


House of Memories

by Maleyah (Katherine_Kat)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9/11 Referenced, 90s background, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Best Friends, Bisexual Disaster Dean Winchester, Conventions, Cosplay, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2020 (Supernatural), F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied Past Abuse, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mal wrote a thing, Military family Winchesters, Minor Character Death (Chuck), Online Friendship, Red Thread of Fate, Religious family Novak, School counselor!Dean, Two Person Love Triangle, Two person love triangle (light), Young Jock!Dean, Young Punk!Cas, artist!castiel, singer!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 91,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23414932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine_Kat/pseuds/Maleyah
Summary: As a military brat, Dean’s life is uprooted when his family moves to Europe. Aside from his brother’s company, Dean finds solace online. As an artistic outcast at his school in Texas, Castiel looks for like-minded souls online. During their teen years, they meet on the Undernet and quickly strike up a friendship. Going by their handles Squirrel and Feathers, they find themselves relying on each other during the ups and downs of the years to come. When they finally start to admit their feelings for each other, Castiel falls off the face of the Internet and Dean has no idea what happened.Over a decade later, without knowing who is sitting opposite them, they meet during a speed dating session at the Loncon Sci-Fi convention. Castiel is cautious, Dean brazen. Will they realize who they are and how much they mean to each other in time?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester, John Winchester/Mary Winchester, Past Castiel/Meg, Past Castiel/Michael, Past Dean/Lee, Past Dean/Nick, past Dean/Cassie - Relationship, past Dean/Lisa
Comments: 141
Kudos: 203
Collections: Dean/Cas Pinefest 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. 2014

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Pinefest 2020.
> 
> Beta'd by the ever lovely, patient, amazing [Kindathewholepoint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindathewholepoint/profile). I love you *HUGS*
> 
> The art was done by [dmsilvisart](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/), a deeply kind and gorgeous artist, who delivered the wonderful visuals for this tale! Though our timezones prevented a lot of interaction, it was amazing to see her work in its various stages before coming to the beautiful end results you will see. Thank you so much for all your time and effort! (And who knew hoodies had such an effect..)
> 
> Master art post is [over here](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/post/616612867867852800/house-of-memories-art-masterpost-note-because).
> 
> Title song can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PgUBhEf59Dg) and is directly responsible for Cas carrying around a Polaroid.
> 
> I grew up in the 80s and 90s in Europe, so a lot of this stems from personal experience and memories. This includes the long distance love, though that's more recent. Despite having two loving (divorced) parents, supervision re: the Internet was genuinely debatable and I got up to a lot of shenanigans they never figured out. (In that respect I doubt much has changed.) 
> 
> Never been part of the Undernet, though I did my research. Still, any mistakes or inconsistencies you find are of my own making, due to ignorance or because they comfortably suited my narrative needs.
> 
> The convention was real and I attended it with my dad. If you're curious, [have a looksie](http://www.worldcon.org/). The next one is in New Zealand and will be held online to accomodate current circumstances. Can recommend (the con, not the crud). It didn't have any speeddating track though, which is something I nicked from a local, Belgian convention, called FACTS.
> 
> Lastly, **this story jumps between a past (90s) and present (2014) timeline**. If the bouncing to and fro messes with you, it's feasible to read both timelines separately. I wouldn't necessarily advise this, as it was written to build up on both ends, but it holds. Just follow the dates in the chapter titles.
> 
> Without further ado, off you go! I hope you enjoy these two boys and their story of love across the ocean. They gave me a right hard time on the regular, but we made it.
> 
> Thank you for being here. Do drop me a line if something along the way touches you.
> 
> Come join fellow SPN/Destiel weirdo aficionados on [the Profound Bond Discord server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)! Demons of a feather flock together <3
> 
> Hoping you and yours are safe in these strange times.  
> Love,  
> Mal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come September, the kids at school would be glad to see Dean arrive by bike again. Traffic brought out the worst in him too, so he preferred using Colt for work and driving Baby on the weekend, when he could take her out to the countryside.
> 
> Except today. The 72nd World Science-Fiction convention at the ExCel meant more traffic, in general, and he had no intention of running late.

****

**London, 2014**

Dean gave a last loving wipe over Colt’s tank and admired his handiwork. It had taken him a few weeks to sort out his motorbike after the last accident. Which sadly meant that he’d missed making the most of the summer on Colt, forced to either walk or use Sam’s spare bicycle.

Not his fault, this time around, so the insurance came through, which alleviated the financial pressure. Come September, the kids at school would be glad to see Dean arrive by bike again. Traffic brought out the worst in him too, so he preferred using Colt for work and driving Baby on the weekend, when he could take her out to the countryside.

Except today. The 72nd World Science-Fiction convention at the ExCel meant more traffic, in general, and he had no intention of running late. He stood, wiping his hands on the oily rag and looked across the street to the park. A bunch of kids were playing footy and he tried to keep a straight face when one face-planted, slipping on the wet grass. Teenagers... all limbs and unstoppable energy. Well, some of them, he thought wryly, his thoughts turning to Adam. He wondered how the kid had been this summer, but it was not his burden during holidays. It shouldn’t be.

Dean flicked his wrist and glanced at his watch.

Time to go and meet Sam. He returned his scattered tools to the tool box, lifted it, and walked into the narrow hallway.

“Charlie!” he yelled upstairs, clanking the box down on the wooden chest. 

He side-stepped the bicycle in the hallway and opened the door to the small kitchen to wash his hands clean. The kitchen door creaked on its hinges, swinging shut behind him.

“Ready!” she called back.

He heard her quick footsteps thundering down the stairs. The kitchen door opened and Charlie walked in, mussing her hands through her still damp hair.

“Oh, hot water is just _such a relief_.”

“Next time tell me sooner that your boiler is broken? I can fix it in a flash.”

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have suffered a near stroke from the cold water at home, would I?”

He smirked, as he slid his bracelets and ring back on. “Pretty sure I heard that yelp all the way here.”

“Mate, you did not.” She threw him his leather jacket, which he barely caught in time, and wiggled into her hooded purple one.

“It’s only one street down. Who’s to say I didn’t?”

She shot him a shit-eating grin. “Because you’d have heard my girls, and I would have heard your whatever’s-your-flavors.”

“Hey,” he grimaced. “I haven’t done that in a while. And even if I had, it’s my prerogative.”

“No one said it wasn’t, darling.” She looked at him, smiling, her dark eyes warm. “But it isn’t quite doing it anymore, is it?”

“Yeah, yeah, you made your point, Bradbury. Because we all know abstinence solves issues.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but she knew him too well.

Charlie made a face at him as if she smelled manure. “Dean…”

“Let’s just go. I gotta check in with the SCA and do the final prep. How is your tech crew doing?”

“We’re understaffed as usual, but we’ll handle it as usual.” She shrugged, as she squirmed her feet into her sneakers. “Nice dodge. You’ll thank us later, trust me.”

“You mean before or after the forcible speed dating?”

She jangled his keys. “May I remind you, you’re the one who pointed out they were organizing that in the first place?”

“As a joke!” he said, snatching them from her extended hand.

“Then may I also remind you, you freely agreed to sign up?” She put her hands on her hips, as he got two helmets down from above the coat rack, his shirt riding up a bit.

“To get you lot off my case. Especially when Benny brought up…”

He shoved the helmet into her arms, biting down hard to cut the sentence short. Nope. Not going there. The opposite of going there. The very reason people thought he needed to speed date, and he figured they might not be entirely wrong, even if he wasn’t going to admit it out loud.

Meeting her grin with a dead-pan stare, he gestured at the door impatiently. 

“Aww, come on, Dean, you know this’ll be good for you.”

“The con, sure. The rest, I don’t,” he said. “But it beats picking up random people at bars. I’ve gotten too old for this, so I’ll humour you if only to prove you wrong that we all have our miraculously perfect match.”

He locked up behind them. Charlie rolled the helmet between her hands like a bowling ball. “Bollllllllocks.”

Dean put his helmet on and threw a leg over Colt. “Hop on, wise-ass.”

Clipping the helmet strap under her chin, Charlie crawled on and, scooting closer, hugged him tight, drawing a smile. He chuckled, as he shook his head and revved the engine. They both sighed in contentment at the vibrations.

“Why couldn’t you be bi?” he asked her over the sound of the engine.

The thought had crossed his mind when puberty hit. Charlie had waltzed into their lives the first time the family got stationed in London. Back then they’d been pre-teens and it was Sam who brought her home. Dean had been too busy sulking in his room, after being uprooted, to bother going outside and making friends. Nevertheless, they had all hit it off stupidly well and before his own sexuality became the murky swamp he avoided, he’d wondered about Charlie. He knew he didn’t see her that way, not remotely, but it would have been a lot easier.

“We’ve been over this. I still wouldn’t be your type.” She patted his thigh affectionately. “Move it, darling. Sam hates it when we’re late.”

It was an easy ride on Colt, bypassing traffic and he enjoyed the feel of the engine between his legs. The docks opened up to them, a familiar sight by the Thames, after over a decade of living in this city on his own. He pulled up in front of the ExCel convention center’s front doors, even though he wasn’t supposed to. Security people had his back.

They hooked the helmets over the handlebars and walked inside. Dean raised a hand in greeting at the security guy, a new face he hadn’t seen before. He couldn’t hold back a smile at the prospect of spending the whole weekend here. Starting tomorrow, he would be out of modern times and into anything and everything geek. The world could fuck all the way off. They had gotten three connected rooms, actual discount rate, and stocked up on rations in coolers for the room parties that never failed to make the cons _the best_.

Sam beamed a smile at him, his hair flopping as he moved, all limbs and massive shoulders, when he hugged him.

“Sammy!” Dean smiled.

“Hi, guys!”

Charlie joined their hug. “Anyone else here yet?”

“Benny and Jo are double-checking their rooms and doing a last supply run.”

“Badges first then, I guess?”

“It’s gonna take us a while.”

“All for a good cause.”

“Imagine what it’s gonna be like once the people get here tomorrow.”

Dean grinned at the prospect. He wasn’t fond of crowds in general, but this crowd… Yeah, he could dig this crowd.

*

**Texas, 2014**

Castiel woke with a voiceless shout, his body giving a jerk, then going still as he stared at the darkness, wondering which part of the jumbled impressions were real and which had been part of the dream. When that happened, he subtly tried to check in with real life people… to see which parts of the dream-conversation were based in reality. Alas, the person in his dream, he couldn’t check in with. The remnants of it were lapping at the fringes of his mind, a languid, but invasive feeling lingering.

It had been a long time since he’d dreamt of Squirrel. Which was rich in itself, because, contrary to some of the nightmares of very real, tangible people that had been in his life, he’d never known what Squirrel looked like. Other than a list of generic features, ticked off like a cheap grocery list, which, in his heart, he knew did not do him justice. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling, as he waited for his dream-addled self to settle back into the physicality of his body, separating the dream from reality, like fingers gingerly parting cobwebs.

He used the breathing technique that was part of his arsenal, his breathing loud in the morning, as he mentally went over his senses… he located the tear in the wallpaper, the pillow that fell off the bed, the door ajar, the little blinking light on his cell phone and the empty glass of water he didn’t remember drinking. He dug his fingers into the fabric of the sheets, carded them through Bee’s fur as she purred by his side, his other hand reaching for the night stand and phone, though he didn’t activate it. By now, he was able to listen… heard his brothers moving about, the toilet flushing, and the coffee machine working. Opening his mouth, he winced as he got a whiff of himself and quickly turned over, pushing his face into the pillow to catch the scent of laundry detergent. With soft, smacking noises, he became all too aware of his own morning breath, tasting the garlic from last night’s dinner.

Time to get ready. They had a plane to catch. Bee trailed after him into the bathroom, mewling as she draped herself around his legs.

*

Castiel double-checked his messages one last time.

<< Meg, I sent you the last emails for the new charity. They’re on board. Can you confirm they arrived? Send me a picture of Bee and Buzz tonight? X

 **> > Surprisingly, you already sent them yesterday. So yes, confirmed. Can you confirm you will forget me, the business and any other work-related things exist? I got this** **, your cats included** **.**

**> > X**

He smiled at the casually added kiss.

<< I know you’ve got it under control. It’s just… I’ve never left.

**> > For all that is holy and unholy, Clarence, take this time to yourself. You need it, I need it. Our work ain’t going anywhere. Will you just… take flight?**

The decidedly, deeply kind suggestion and reminder of what he was hoping to chase down made tears prick in his eyes. Wiggling his nose, he waited for the surge of emotion to pass before he replied.

<< I’ll do my best. Will let you know when we arrive.

**> > Please. And after that, radio silence. Capisce? X**

<< Loud and clear. Give ’m hell on your end. X

Castiel fidgeted in the narrow seat, trying to get comfortable. Not only was this his first time flying, it was a 10 hour flight across the Atlantic. The seat next to him wobbled when Gabriel settled into it with a loud, content sigh. His 5 foot 7 frame fit more easily than Castiel’s 6 foot one. On Gabe’s other side, Lucifer sat, his legs extended into the pathway, as he poked at the tiny television screen in the seat in front of him. Castiel wondered how long it would be before some unfortunate flight attendant would lean in on his long legs blocking the way, only to have the eldest Novak turn on his debatable charm.

“Ready for it, Cassie?” Gabriel asked, his eyes turning to slits as he smiled.

“I look forward to flying,” he nodded. “To be above the clouds..”

He didn’t voice his concerns about the charity deals falling through during his month-long absence, despite Meg’s capabilities. Perhaps that was part of the reason for his art block… the focus on everything but the art. Turning his head to the window, he observed the people moving around the plane. He lifted his camera, adjusting the setting, and snapped a few shots, until the plane started taxiing. His system went into overdrive, eagerly chasing down all the new impressions, as the engines whined louder and they sped up, the airport strip flashing by.

He felt Gabriel leaning into his right side to look out the window, when they lifted off the tarmac. “Here we go.”

They were airborne, the plane cutting through the sky at a sharp angle. His ears pounded, then seemed to clog up. He squinted and forced a few yawns. Soon, however, he was mesmerized by the view, the people, cars, houses quickly turning so small they became invisible and the world was reshaped as a tapestry of grey lines and color blocks. He scrambled for one of many small notebooks and doodled at random, sprinkling in questions and thoughts he’d lose track of if he didn’t. He’d always had trouble keeping his squirrels in a row, but in the wake of the last months, perhaps a lot longer, it had gotten decidedly worse.

He’d randomly drive somewhere and forget why he was there. Granted, that happened on the best of days. Always rushed, he never caught up with anything, had to replan just about everything on his schedule because of brain fog, driving Meg nuts. When mild panic attacks and random emotional crashes interfered with his already sketchy sleep pattern, Meg called Gabriel. It had been a stretch to insist he was fine. His therapist agreed. For all the work they’d done, she too said it was time to shake things up.

So tickets were booked, which landed him here.

He let out a surprised huff when the plane was enveloped in slivers of white and his view was obscured for a while, until suddenly, abruptly, they were above the clouds. The intensity of the sun took his breath away. He pushed his forehead against the window, aiming the camera without needing to look and snapping quick shots. Lowering it to his lap, he drank in the view, forgetting the catalyst that had led them to this point.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent that way, until a flight attendant drew his attention. Listening to the man’s list of food and drink options, he ordered sparkling water and the dinner option which ran him the smallest risk of getting food poisoning. Gabe ordered chicken, Lucifer two dishes.

“Glutton,” Castiel mouthed into his water.

Lucifer glanced over, one unimpressed eyebrow raised. He dipped his fingers into his food as he spoke. “You know what they say about people who like their food.”

“I do?” Castiel tilted his head at him.

“Oh, Cassie, come on,” Gabriel sighed fondly.

“Enthusiastic lovers,” Lucifer grinned, revealing a wolfish grin. “Eat you out any time.”

Castiel scrunched up his nose at his brother and let out a sound of disgust. “Jeez, Luci, I don’t need to know this shit.” He looked to Gabe. “I thought he grew out of this.”

Gabriel laughed. “Have any of us? Besides you, but that’s cause you never grew into it.”

“That’s a lie,” Castiel said, matter-of-fact. “Just because I don’t run my mouth and he does…”

Giving a gentle shrug, Lucifer’s face exuded a kind of calm Castiel envied. Like he didn’t have a care in the world or if he did, he knew perfectly how to handle it. Luci never lost his sharp edges though.

Castiel had plenty of experiences, thank you very much, and got the burns to prove it in the process. Hitting the cape of 30 a few years back may have made him reassess several of his life choices. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually made much progress since then.

“Gabe, come on. Our little Cassie here isn’t at all the innocent baby brother you sometimes mistake him for.”

Castiel squinted at Lucifer over Gabe’s head. “You’re…”

“I never said he was _innocent_ ,” Gabriel protested. “I consider him… less impure?”

“You mean like the cherub angel mom called him?”

His brothers were _hilarious_. He wondered if their mother looked down on them in a near permanent state of side-eye. Then he wondered how her reunion with their father would go. And then he got side-tracked, thinking about Heaven and its existence. Then to angels. And he ran lost, until Gabriel drew him back.

“Less corrupted. Of morals, Luci,” Gabriel huffed. “Look it up.”

“Oh, ye of poor lives,” Castiel snapped. “Ugh, four weeks in Europe with you two. Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Cause we needed to get out of the house, Cassie. You know that as well as I do. After…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Castiel cut him off by plugging his headphones into the television screen jack and ostensibly putting them on as he held Gabe’s eyes. His brother shot him a serious look and Castiel hated it, because Gabriel was rarely serious and it still confused him whenever he was. Dismissing his brothers, he started flipping through the movies, eventually settling on _The Book Thief_.

His attention wasn’t all there, but sleep wouldn’t come fully either, so he drifted in and out of a semi-snooze, epileptic flashes of the movie thrown in, which all left him more tired than when he’d gotten on the plane. And he hadn’t slept right in weeks.

It turned out that ten hours on a plane could go by reasonably fast, but only because they turned the lights down and he occupied his brain with back-to-back movies, some of which were of debatable quality, until it could no longer handle the visual input and he switched to music. He loved the feel of butterflies, every time the plane suffered some turbulence. Other people seemed less taken with it.

By the end of it, all he wanted was more butterflies, a shower and a bed. The plane delivered on the first when it started its descent over a blanket of bright white clouds, the sun glaring, and Castiel let out a soft laugh, looking outside hungrily. As for request number two and three, only one of them was in the cards as it was smack in the middle of the day here.

*

**London, 2014**

Castiel breathed deep the damp air in the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. He sauntered towards the floor to ceiling window. The skyline of London was as charming as the pamphlets promised, but there was something shimmering underneath its touristy veneer. A heartbeat, thrumming low and steady, through a city with more history than any he’d visited in his life. Europe was so much older than the US… he could only hope that sinking into it would jolt him out of his artistic block. Or apathy. Or grief.

Its link to the past was not lost on him.

He turned on the television and switched to a local channel, curious to see what the ads and programs would tell him about London. Castiel learned he really enjoyed the accent. There were some weird ass ads on and, with joy, he noticed there was a WorldCon this weekend. Following the brain path, he dialed Gabe’s room number, just because he wanted to see if it worked.

“Casa Erotica, how may we service you?”

Castiel chuckled, as he pulled up the con website. “What if it had been anyone else but me?”

“I might have gotten laid.”

“Unlikely,” Castiel said. “I’m calling because there’s a convention, here in London. It’s Wednesday, yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Then it starts tomorrow. I wanna go.”

“Is this one of those geek conventions you’re prone to?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yes, Gabe, it’s one of those.”

“Aww, Cassie, we came here for culture. Not the same swill we have at home. Besides we’re only here for a few days.”

“But we’re returning at the end of our tour, so technically not a problem.”

“How long is this convention?”

“I’m sending you the link. Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“Fine, I’ll have a look.”

“You said it yourself, we came here to try new things. Jog us all out of the rut.”

“Yeah, inspiration and sexual enlightenment, I remember,” Gabriel said, chewing around something.

Castiel ignored the second so-called motivator Gabe tacked on. “Where did you get food?”

“Chocolate in the minibar. Neat, Martin’s there.”

“Yeah, the SCA too. And they have screenings of anime and old movies.”

“Now you’re just pandering to my kinks.”

“Is it working?”

Gabriel was too quiet for too long and when he spoke, there was a lilt to his tone that reminded him of when they were younger and Cas got the short end of the stick, after their father found out whatever Gabriel got up to. “Oooh, yeah, okay, Feathers, we can go. I’ll order tickets for the three of us.”

The use of his old handle confused him as much as the compliance. “You will? Without even consulting Luci.”

“Psht, let me handle him. Did you shower yet? Cause I’m starving.”

“Me too, and yes, I’m ready. I mean, no, wait, I need to get dressed first. Is Luci?”

“Dunno, let’s go knock on his door.”

“On my way out in a bit.” 

Castiel hung up the phone and got dressed. He grabbed his jeans jacket with a notebook and pencil inside it, a tiny map of London because he always got lost, his wallet and sunglasses. After a moment’s hesitation, he switched his Canon out for his smaller, polaroid camera and left, curious what the city had to offer.


	2. London - 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SQUIRREL: Same, man. Yep, no one wants my handle :)
> 
> FEATHERS: Why not?
> 
> SQUIRREL: Not cool enough?
> 
> FEATHERS: But cute and fluffy

**London 1994**

“Dean!”

Sam banged a fist on his door. Dean blinked at his computer screen, wishing the connection would re-establish faster. Some hacker idiot had joined two servers and kicked everyone out again. Hopefully his handle hadn’t been stolen. But fuck, was the Internet slow today.

“Go away, Sammy.”

“Oh, come on, Dean. The fair’s in and Charlie’s coming too.”

Dean grunted, annoyed at everything. His parents for moving them here. The city was everything Lawrence wasn’t and the other way around. It was grey and grim, especially when it rained, which was apparently 90% of the year. Whenever the sun did come out, everyone behaved like a medieval city seeing lightning for the first time and it was an act of God.

His brother too, though that was mainly because Sam had adapted better than he had… or wanted to… and found himself a military brat friend in Charlie. Even Charlie despite the fact that she was cute and he liked her. It was hard not to. 

The Internet failing him. This city. After four years, he’d given up on making real life friends, especially since he’d overheard their parents talking about the next move. Come to think of it, that was probably what had him in a mood. What was the point? They’d soon move again. Somewhere to the south of Europe, which meant heat. Dean hated heat.

Besides, he could pretend he had friends at training. Maybe he did. It came close enough to pretend, even though he felt wholly detached from everyone, except Sam and to an extent, Charlie. So guilt lapped at his ankles, because he’d snapped at them.

“I don’t wanna, okay? Sorry, Sammy. You guys go have fun.”

The door to his room opened and, clicking his screens away with the shortcut key, Dean twirled his desk chair around, cocking his head at Sam and Charlie. “I didn’t say you could come in.”

“Dude, like I care,” Sam said, leaning on Dean’s chair. “It smells in here. Open a window.”

Charlie’s color scheme hurt his eyes, but she pulled it off, as always, beaming at him. “Comin’, dork?”

He smiled, despite his current disposition. That was the thing about Charlie, she never failed to lighten the mood. That still didn’t mean he wanted to leave his house or the Undernet. “No way, geek.”

“We won’t get to stay as late, if you don’t join.”

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean repeated. The guilt he felt was not enough to change his mind.

Sam looked at him and Dean turned away. One set of puppy eyes, he might be able to handle, but if Charlie threw her weight in… “Go already. You’re wasting daylight.” He put the bottle of Coke to his lips for something to do.

“Okay,” Charlie said brightly. “Have fun wanking!”

The fizzy liquid went up his nose and Dean snorted, eyes watering at the prickly assault.

“Charlie, gross!” Sam protested.

Dean was too busy coughing to come up with a retort.

Laughing, Charlie grabbed Sam’s hand and they left, closing the door on their way out. Thankfully. Granted, Charlie wasn’t necessarily wrong, but he didn’t need her to point it out. Wiping down his mouth and chin with one hand, he called up the Undernet command screen, working his way through the LIST and JOIN commands. The general channel would do, until he found someone interesting to talk to. Maybe. 

Ghostwriter, Tetsuo and Jareth had been online before the server hack, but they were gone. Either they didn’t make it back or maybe they vanished into an invisible channel. They didn’t know each other that well yet. He contemplated joining his age bracket channel, but that tended to backfire. A lot.

There were few online. Abby123, a familiar name but they usually didn’t talk much, Feathers, a new name unless someone changed handles, Jakeyboy, their local hornball, and himself, Squirrel. He typed his greeting and pressed play on his stereo, not remembering which CD was currently loaded. It took him all of the first five seconds to recognize _Whole Lotta Love_. He opened his top drawer and pulled out a Lion bar, unwrapped it and shoved half in his mouth, waiting for a reply. Wiping the crumbs off his notebook, he flicked a pencil like a metronome as he located his latest poem. Song. Whatever.

SQUIRREL: Hi guys, how are you?

FEATHERS: Hi, all, hello, Squirrel

Dean scrunched up his nose as he chewed.

JAKEYBOY: Hey Squirrel bored here U got back on

Jakeyboy barely used punctuation, except for questions, which didn’t always make communication with him easier. He thought the kid was about his age but couldn’t be sure. People on the Undernet lied a lot, but age kinda showed. Sure as fuck, though, he had ADD and no filter.

SQUIRREL: Same, man. Yep, no one wants my handle :)

FEATHERS: Why not?

SQUIRREL: Not cool enough?

FEATHERS: But cute and fluffy

Dean furrowed his brow in mild confusion, tilting his head. Yeah, sure, cute and fluffy. Feathers also lacked a filter, it seemed. With a sigh, he wondered if tonight was going to be one of _those_ nights. If so, it’d mainly consist of writing, strumming his guitar and singing.

JAKEYBOY: Hey feathers u new?

FEATHERS: Yeah, we just got Internet.

JAKEYBOY: Asl?

FEATHERS: What does that mean?

Ah… New blood. He loved new people. Quickly, he cut in front of Jake, before he could scare Feathers away.

SQUIRREL: Age, sex, location. But beware, Jake, he’s a hornball.

JAKEYBOY: FU SQ

SQUIRREL: Don’t swing that way, man

JAKEYBOY: I could be a hot girl just sayin

FEATHERS: Oh, I finally found my people!

JAKEYBOY: Huh?

FEATHERS: Awkward and inappropriate, exactly why I’m here

Dean barked a laugh.

SQUIRREL: Aren’t we all?

FEATHERS: To various degrees I think :)

SQUIRREL: So what brought you to our nook of the internet?

FEATHERS: Home alone with the new computer and no supervision

JAKEYBOY: Cool raid your parents liquor cabinet find porn

FEATHERS: We don’t keep booze in the house

JAKEYBOY: 4real?

SQUIRREL: Ours is locked away too

JAKEYBOY: Wtf?

FEATHERS: Why’s that?

SQUIRREL: Weapons in the house

SQUIRREL: :) we hunt people for sport

FEATHERS: Should I have joined the xxx channel for normal conversation?

SQUIRREL: Whoa don’t!

JAKEYBOY: Please do :D and report back to us

FEATHERS: Kidding, but I hope you were too

SQUIRREL: :) I’m a military brat, man

FEATHERS: Ooooh, cool

SQUIRREL: Could be better, overheard my parents say we might move again soon

JAKEYBOY: We all sad here is what he saying

FEATHERS: I really hit the jackpot here

SQUIRREL: Lol

WEREBOY: Im back bitches!

Dean smiled. Unless someone stole his handle, that was Were. A recent addition to the Undernet and he seemed fun. Almost always in a good mood. Also the one who kept yelling they should meet up in real life to anyone who was listening. And anyone who wasn’t.

FEATHERS: Lol?

SQUIRREL: Hey, Were! You good?

WEREBOY: Yeah yeah, too much homework but what are you gonna do. What is everyone doing?

SQUIRREL: Feathers, LOL = laughing out loud

FEATHERS: Ah, thanks

JAKEYBOY: Watching porn

WEREBOY: Jaaaaaake! Tentacles?

FEATHERS: What the fuck? O.O I haven’t cursed this much in such a short amount of time, like ever

SQUIRREL: Yeah, apologies, some of us are a bit off leash

Dean actually did feel a bit sorry. Jake was nice, but holy hell if his record didn’t skip most of the time. Were feeding into it didn’t help, but that was always a catch 22.

“Bunch of weirdos,” he mumbled out loud, but kinda fond. Besides Jake did know where all the good porn was.

FEATHERS: Why are you sorry? He yours?

Dean grimaced at the thought.

SQUIRREL: Hell no, he’s just having one of his weirder days. It happens to the best of us

FEATHERS: No denying that :)

WEREBOY: It sure does :D hi Feathers, new?

FEATHERS: Yep, hi Were. Where’s everyone from?

WEREBOY: Missouri

SQUIRREL: England

FEATHERS: Texas

JAKEYBOY: Classified information earn it

FEATHERS: England? Ain’t it late there?

SQUIRREL: 8pm, so we’re good for a bit

WEREBOY: Jake, youre in area 51 arent you? A special case experiment

JAKEYBOY: If I were, Im not gonna tell you. Hey, Feathers, you didn’t say your age or sex

FEATHERS: Classified information, Jake, earn it

Again, Dean laughed. Feathers was quick on the uptake.

JAKEYBOY: challenge accepted

FEATHERS: don’t bother, I won’t be telling you any time soon, dad would take away the computer

JAKEYBOY: prolly a girl

SQUIRREL: Ain’t it time for bed yet, Jake?

JAKEYBOY: You wish

WEREBOY: Srsly, what is everyone doing? I need ideas

SQUIRREL: Music and writing, if you guys would shut up for two minutes :p

FEATHERS: Drawing and music

FEATHERS: Squirrel, what are you listening to?

SQUIRREL: Feathers, what are you drawing?

FEATHERS: :)

Dean smiled, because he could tell tonight was going to turn out okay. A knock at his door and it opened, his fingers lightning fast in connecting the keys that minimized all his screens. It revealed his dad’s Impala as his background and reduced everything to a flickering of activity at the bottom. He tilted sideways, turning in his chair, keeping his face smooth as he looked to his mom.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Sweetie, you didn’t join Sam and Charlie?”

“I didn’t feel like going out.”

She ran a hand through his hair, pulling him into a hug against her stomach.

“Mommmm,” he protested unconvincingly, throwing his arms around her waist for a tight hug.

“How is the writing going?”

“Slow,” he mumbled into the soft plaid of her shirt. “But fine.”

She smiled, her voice warm. “You sound like your dad.”

Dean craned his neck, chin pushed into her stomach and looked up, eyes twinkling. “As if he wrote a song in his life.”

“You’d be surprised,” she said, ruffling his hair. Dean let go under more loud protests.

“Really?”

She tugged at his crumpled sheets until they were smoothed out and sat down on his bed. “He wrote me some when we first started dating. You get your voice from that side, for sure, I couldn’t hold a tune if my life depended on it.”

“Good thing you’re a pilot then, huh?”

Ambivalence. That probably covered best how he felt about his parents and their careers. His mom was the most badass pilot. His dad, one of the best snipers the unit had. So, yes, of course, like any self-respecting military brat, he was proud. The fall-out of their choices, however, meant he was adrift on a continent he had no affinity with and try as he might, he didn’t seem to connect to people… Not in a way that felt real.

The brief moment of contemplation must have shown on his face, because his mom was studying him, that typical soft touch to her eyes, whenever she caught him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join them?”

Worry. Always worried about her eldest. Dean did what he always did. “Yeah. I’m good, Mom. I got my writing and my guitar.”

“What about people?”

He contemplated it for a second and decided he could tell her. It might or might not make it to his dad that way. “I… I, umm, I’m making friends online.”

Her eyes fell to the computer. The military was always ahead of shit, so the technology, as such, was no stranger to her and she seemed to catch on to that particular use for it.

“Of course,” she nodded. “Hey, did you sign up for that…” She snapped her fingers a few times, face scrunched up as she tried to dig up the word, but Dean remembered.

“The spaghetti night? I’ll fill out the form. Full gang, right?”

“Of course, we want to see you perform.”

Dean kept his mouth shut, but he doubted his dad _really_ wanted to see him perform.

“We do, Dean,” she repeated, emphasizing the second word.

“Yeah, sure,” he smiled. “I’ll do it tonight, promise.”

They sat in silence for a bit until she caught on and did that face, that Mom face, as she slapped her hands to her knees and got up. A quick peck on his head, which had him squinting one eye shut in appreciation.

“Enjoy your evening, sweetie. If you change your mind about the company, I’m home.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

He watched her close the door behind her and gave it a few ticks before returning to the channel and caught up with reading. They hadn’t typed that much.

JAKEYBOY: Porn?

That right there was why he learned all possible shortcuts real fast.

WEREBOY: Jake, we love you but dial it down, buddy

JAKEYBOY: Sorry guys bit of a rough day

FEATHERS: What happened?

JAKEYBOY: …

FEATHERS: You don’t have to tell if you don’t want to

Dean chewed his pencil, intrigued. Okay… there was something disturbingly open about Feathers there and he was sure that wasn’t the safest thing to be on the web. The opening lines he’d gotten in the last months would make his parents blush. And get out the guns.

JAKEYBOY: its okay itll pass always does think Im gonna game for a bit

WEREBOY: Okay take care, bud, were here, sorry if I was rough

JAKEYBOY: Nah Im wired I know it

FEATHERS: You always this kind to each other?

There it was again. Dean joined back in the conversation.

SQUIRREL: We try to be, Jake wasn’t entirely wrong when he said we’re a sad bunch lol

JAKEYBOY: I’m screenshotting that

SQUIRREL: Shove off, Jake :*

JAKEYBOY: Awwwww kissy face thanks Squirrel. Im going im going see you tomorrow guys

WEREBOY: oh shit, my baby sister is crying

FEATHERS: you home alone too?

WEREBOY: yeah gtg for a bit

FEATHERS: gtg?

SQUIRREL: Got to go

FEATHERS: Oh okay.. bye

SQUIRREL: No no, that’s what it means. Gtg = got to go

FEATHERS: OH! Sorry, new to this. Is it always this quiet?

SQUIRREL: fluctuates a bit, but today’s quiet, yeah, it’s just you and me now

FEATHERS: I kinda like this

Dean frowned at the screen with a smile, wiping off the pencil. Curiosity fluttered in his chest.

SQUIRREL: What?

FEATHERS: Meeting people across the world

SQUIRREL: Yeah, it’s cool. Are you always this.. open?

FEATHERS: What do you mean?

SQUIRREL: Dude, you don’t know us, Were made tentacle jokes that seemed to offend you, Jake was being weird, and you still asked if he was okay

FEATHERS: Oh… I wasn’t really offended, just surprised. And I dunno, if he’s not okay, it’s only right to ask?

Dean let it rest. He just met Feathers, so he didn’t need to tell him to be careful, right? Even though he really wanted to.

SQUIRREL: You said you were drawing?

FEATHERS: Yes

He waited for a bit.

SQUIRREL: keeping me in suspense?

FEATHERS: :) maybe

SQUIRREL: Duuuude, tell me to back off if this is bothering you. If not, share

FEATHERS: Haha, sorry, no need to back off. I was working shadow in, it’s manga stuff

SQUIRREL: ooh, which one?

FEATHERS: Umm X/1999

SQUIRREL: the end of time one?

FEATHERS: you know it :)

SQUIRREL: Oh yeah, my brother has it, but big fan so I steal them

FEATHERS: Tsk.. I take it you’re the bigger brother?

SQUIRREL: :p yeah why

FEATHERS: sounds like something bigger brothers do

SQUIRREL: Then I guess you’re the younger one?

FEATHERS: Youngest, actually :D what music are you listening to?

SQUIRREL: Oh, poor baby :D

SQUIRREL: mom’s classic rock collection.. currently on led zeppelin

FEATHERS: Cool. Does she have The Doors too?

SQUIRREL: Yep. Think she has everything worth having. You?

FEATHERS: Anything punk rock, currently going through a Paddy and the Rats phase

SQUIRREL: Paddy and the who?

FEATHERS: The rats :) look em up

SQUIRREL: I will

SQUIRREL: Kinda wish there was a way to share files more easily but half the time shit freezes

FEATHERS: Why?

SQUIRREL: to see your drawings, share music? Curious

FEATHERS: :)

FEATHERS: it’s nice meeting you, Squirrel

A warmth pooled in the vacant area in his chest, soothing like the scent of fresh pie. Maybe he could really make friends here. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds. He switched the Led Zeppelin CD out for The Doors, before he replied.

SQUIRREL: You too, Feathers. You gonna be a regular?

FEATHERS: I think so, not a lotta people to hang out with here. Or at least none I wanna invest time in

SQUIRREL: Join the club, it’s nice here. People don’t disappear

FEATHERS: How do you mean?

SQUIRREL: We moved to Europe when I was 10 so I lost my friends and I haven’t really made decent new ones I guess

FEATHERS: That sounds kinda hard, yes, to have to leave everyone behind

Dean squirmed. Most people just gave an empty apology, which he could dismiss. This… Quickly he typed to push the feelings away.

SQUIRREL: Don’t be. We’re good on here ;) unless someone hacks the server

FEATHERS: They what?

SQUIRREL: Hackers, they merge channels and kick everyone out, then sometimes steal your handle

FEATHERS: Why?

SQUIRREL: the kick of it?

FEATHERS: Do we need code questions and answers?

SQUIRREL: That’s actually not a bad idea :)

FEATHERS: It happens. Well, okay, apart from the dirty jokes, tentacles and hackers, y’all seem nicer than real people

SQUIRREL: LOL we’re real people too :D

FEATHERS: right, I know, sorry! But I mean.. umm

SQUIRREL: I know what you mean, just teasing

FEATHERS: Ahh :) kinda confusing over chat

SQUIRREL: So how old are you really?

FEATHERS: You working for Jake now?

SQUIRREL: He wishes. Nah, just curious, but you don’t have to tell me. I’m 15, by the way, and a dude

FEATHERS: I kinda figured the gender yeah

SQUIRREL: How so?

FEATHERS: dunno, you sound...

SQUIRREL: Do tell, all ears how I sound ;)

FEATHERS: Umm honest and I dunno kinda protective?

Again Dean did a mental double-take, chewing the other half of the Lion bar down. But Sam had told him the same in the past. Hell, Dad had told him to always protect Sammy and wanted him to join the military in due time. Another snake pit, right there. He’d protect Sammy, always. Military… ehhh.

SQUIRREL: Huh?

FEATHERS: I dunno, you stepped in as soon as Jake was being weird

SQUIRREL: Oh, that. Yeah, sure. Jake’s weird, but harmless. We’ve seen worse on here. I do the same for my baby brother

FEATHERS: Does he need a lotta protection?

SQUIRREL: Not really, but I do it anyway. It’s what big brothers do, you know besides steal mangas

FEATHERS: :) can you explain that to mine?

SQUIRREL: Are they bags of dicks?

FEATHERS: Hahaha!

SQUIRREL: What? :)

FEATHERS: That’s one of my brother’s favorite expressions. Though he usually says great big bag of dicks

SQUIRREL: Ugh. I think I prefer great balls of fire, all in all

FEATHERS: I’m 14 by the way, also a guy. What did you mean when you said you’ve seen worse here?

SQUIRREL: :)

SQUIRREL: Just… dangers, I guess. Or people pulling pranks. Hackers sometimes shut down the channels, but it’s worse when a perv gets in

FEATHERS: better make sure my dad doesn’t hear about that...

SQUIRREL: My parents don’t know either, there’s lots they don’t know :D

FEATHERS: Seems smarter

Content with his decision, Dean curled his feet into his chair and settled in for the evening. He and Feathers talked well into his night’s rest about drawing, writing, music, the comics and books they read, movies and series, and the ideas they had, until Dean was typing with his head resting on his arm and part of the keyboard. Feathers seemed to catch on.

FEATHERS: Jeez, isn’t it getting way late for you?

SQUIRREL: Kinda, how can you tell?

FEATHERS: you’re getting slower with your responses :)

SQUIRREL: Oh, sorry :) my eyes are falling shut, but The Doors are on repeat

FEATHERS: that’s okay, maybe you should go to bed?

SQUIRREL: you sound worried

FEATHERS: I get real grumpy if I don’t sleep enough so I guess?

SQUIRREL: sweet of you

FEATHERS: besides, my siblings are coming home from school so at least one of them will be a dick about the computer

SQUIRREL: why weren’t you at school?

FEATHERS: ill, so kinda happy I got to go online

SQUIRREL: :) see you tomorrow?

FEATHERS: still ill so yes

SQUIRREL: See you in a bit, Feathers

FEATHERS: See you in a bit, Squirrel

Shit, he had calculus first thing in the morning.

With a huge yawn and a stupid smile, Dean stumbled to his bed, flopping over in his clothes and let out a tired sigh. There were friends he’d made on the Undernet, but something about Feathers felt different. Exhaustion knocked him out before he could give it too much thought.


	3. Texas - 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You need real life friends, squirt.”
> 
> Castiel smiled, thinking of Squirrel. “They’re real people too. Just far away.”

**Texas 1994**

Castiel coughed and uncurled from his nesting, trying to catch more air. Under the sheets, he had his sketchbook and a book for school he’d forgotten about. Being ill saved him from the test this week, but he’d have to take it as soon as he returned and he wasn’t even halfway. He had trouble focusing at the best of times… being ill didn’t make it easier. His drawing also kept pulling him in, daydreams unfolding in his head that begged to be put down to paper. He chewed his bottom lip, tearing harmless pieces of skin off.

When he heard his father’s footsteps, he hurried to hide the offensive sketchbook between the bed head and the wall, not wanting a repeat rant from yesterday. It slid down with a soft swoosh sound and he pulled the duvet back over his head. The door to his room opened and his father walked in. 

“Castiel, what are you…”

With little to no regard for privacy or ceremony, his father rearranged the duvet until Castiel’s face was back above board. Castiel scowled when he also searched under the sheets and pulled out the book.

“Don’t give me that look, squirt. What are you up to?”

“I have to read it for school,” he replied, tone petulant.

“Wasn’t this due this week?”

That his father would know. As long as it was school or Church-related, he’d remember. He gave a sheepish nod, as his father reached for his schedule and scanned it.

“It’s not on here.”

“I forgot.”

His father’s pale blue eyes pleaded with the heavens, like Castiel had seen them do so often whenever confronted with his son’s ‘head in the clouds’ tendencies.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, trying to head off another reprimand. “I’ll finish it by Monday, I promise.”

“You’re smart enough, Castiel, stuff like this shouldn’t happen.”

“I know.”

“Then why does it keep happening?”

“I don’t know.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while, until his father seemed to remember why he’d been working from home in the first place. Highly unusual and wholly unnecessary as far as Castiel was concerned. He knew his father didn’t like it and he didn’t want the supervision.

So he tried his best to keep his face neutral when he heard his father’s next words, as his expression softened. They didn’t talk much, but Castiel knew his father cared.

“Work called, squirt. Will you be alright?”

He pushed himself up on the mattress. “I’ll be okay. I’ll spend most of my time resting, I promise.” 

Castiel guessed it really had to be important.

A warm hand landed on his forehead, while the other held out the thermometer. Castiel opened up, twirled it around in his mouth until he had it under his tongue. He stared down, cross-eyed, at the mercury, inching up slowly. The effort made his head hurt.

His father took the thermometer out and eyed it, seeming pleased. “No fever for two days. Can I get you anything before I leave?”

“I’ll be okay,” he repeated. Thinking about being alone in the house again, he considered how best to use that rare opportunity and his thoughts went back to last night.

“Dad, can I use the computer?”

Why did he even ask? Assbutt.

Castiel didn’t mind being home alone. Or home from school. Not one bit. It meant he was safe to do what he wanted when he felt like it and no one was gonna give him shit for it. With two older brothers, and a sister in and out of hospitals, he kept his trouble to himself as best he could. Gabe and Luci stood up for him, which often made it worse, so if Castiel had any say on his whereabouts, this was it.

“Again?”

He kept his voice even. “Yes. Please?”

“What’s so interesting on there?”

“Games. And the internet.”

His father’s eyes turned solemn, flitting across his room for a few seconds, over his shelves of books and the cross above the door. Castiel sat up, knowing there was something coming that required his attention so he tried to focus. 

“Don’t give out information, you hear me? Your name, where you live. And stay away from bad people.”

He wanted to ask how he would be able to tell. Or how he could tell those apart from real life assbutts. Instead he played along.

“I won’t. Luci told me not to too. No one does, I think? We’re just a bunch of kids talking.”

His father pulled away a bit. The technology baffled him and with the amount of hours he worked, there was little time to explore the unfamiliar territory alongside his kids. Lucifer had instructions to keep an eye on his siblings, which he _didn’t_ do online, but Castiel wasn’t going to point that out. Anna was nosy enough.

“Are they nice kids?”

“Nicer than the ones at school, so yeah.”

Castiel smiled at his father with what he hoped was a reassuring expression. Because, yeah, Squirrel had seemed nice. No, not nice. _Kind_. Jake was weird as fuck, but Castiel didn’t mind weird.

“You need real life friends, squirt.”

Castiel smiled, thinking of Squirrel. “They’re real people too. Just far away.”

His father returned the smile, a touch sad or tired, ruffled his hair and stood. “Very well, you can, but not all day and stop when your siblings get home. They need it for school. Got it?”

“Okay, thanks, Dad.”

“See you tomorrow, kid.”

“You’re not home for dinner?”

“I doubt it. Make sure Anna eats her vegetables.”

“We’ll try.”

Castiel burrowed back into the blanket and listened intently to his father moving about the house. The door of the bathroom clicked shut after he flushed. Messing with his shoes without sitting down. Keys jangling. Jacket lifted off the chair in the hallway. The front door slammed shut. He waited until he heard the sound of the engine move away from the house.

He shoved off the blanket, reached down for his sketchbook and bolted for the computer. Fuck ‘not all day’.

By the time he got there, he was a bit out of breath and light-headed. Okay, dumb. He clicked the power button and heard the hum kick in. It took five minutes to boot up, so he went to the kitchen for a glass of juice, an apple and a roll of cookies. He took a blanket from the couch and started nesting in the desk chair, pulling up his too long pajama pants. By the time he was settled in, sketchbook and keyboard vying for space on the desk, the row of family profile icons welcomed him. His father was going to have a fit whenever he saw Gabriel’s. Castiel clicked on his feather icon and entered his password. What the point was when they all had to give their password to their father, he didn’t know.

He dialed into the Internet, listening to the squealing noises on the land line for kicks, trying to discern a pattern or language. From there, it was a matter of minutes before he found his way to IRC and called up the list of currently active channels. He nibbled at a nail without biting it, as he found his way around. The names on some of them made him crinkle his nose in disgust. 

These guys couldn’t get to him, but he started to see why his father wanted him to keep a distance. Then again, he’d heard some of the shit kids said at school and that wasn’t much better. In this case, he could at least ignore them or log off. At school, running away usually didn’t end well, but with some help from Lucifer, Castiel knew exactly where to hit ‘em, even if he was scrawny as hell. There was hope yet that he’d fill out like Luci.

Brief confusion quickly turned to giddy happiness, when he spotted one called ‘Feathers and Squirrel’. He gave the command to join the channel and found Squirrel in there.

FEATHERS: Hello, Squirrel! What is this?

SQUIRREL: Heya, Feathers. A private channel! I noticed some weirdoes online earlier and I figured you could do without that. Also Jake said he got some weird messages

FEATHERS: Is he okay? He wasn’t online, I think?

SQUIRREL: Seriously?

FEATHERS: What? If he’s not okay, maybe we gotta check in

SQUIRREL: You barely know him :)

FEATHERS: Well, yes, but you guys are all kind to me so.. I dunno, small favor

Squirrel stopped typing for a while and Castiel frowned, thinking, worrying his bottom lip. He winced when he pulled off a piece of skin and drew blood. He sucked his lip in to make it stop, thoughts arranging themselves into something akin to a point.

FEATHERS: Besides you probably checked in with him already

SQUIRREL: how did you know?

FEATHERS: Lucky guess ;)

SQUIRREL: :) sure. How are you? Feeling better?

FEATHERS: My fever’s gone and I am eating cookies and an apple so I should be okay to go back to school after the weekend. Sadly

SQUIRREL: That bad?

FEATHERS: Shrug. No one quite like me :) too weird

SQUIRREL: Yeah, sure thing, Feathers. Tell me what’s so weird about you?

FEATHERS: As far as I can tell, everything

SQUIRREL: Come on, man, work with me

Castiel huffed and honestly didn’t really know where to start. For starters, he surprised himself by being so quick in these conversations. Apparently it was easier for him to type than talk. Secondly, he called himself weird, because others called him that. For reasons they named, not reasons he understood. Not really. All he knew was that he usually lost people once he started talking too much about what was going on in his head. Like they spoke a different language.

FEATHERS: Clothes, drawing, hobbies, extra credit stuff I started doing. It’s Texas, right? Extra credit, no go. Books, no go. Theatre, no go. Art, no go.

SQUIRREL: That’s it?

SQUIRREL: It’s just, you seem just like us so...

FEATHERS: People don’t know what to say when I try to talk to them but I also don’t know what to say when they talk about Baywatch or whatever dumb show they’re watching so I guess we’re even

SQUIRREL: You’re right, I prefer Dr Sexy to the Hoff

FEATHERS: Huh?

SQUIRREL: Dr Sexy, y’know, the show about the hot doctor?

FEATHERS: Are you making fun of me?

SQUIRREL: No, I’m saying I like weird shit too and people are dicks

FEATHERS: That’s acceptable :) what other weird shit?

SQUIRREL: It’s not so much them thinking I’m weird, they just don’t feel real to me

FEATHERS: But we do?

SQUIRREL: Yeah

Castiel stared at the blinking straight line. He didn’t really know what to say to that… Part of him wouldn’t mind if their dad moved them to a new place. Maybe he’d have more luck there, because that’s all it was. Bad luck. Like with his mom. A random combination of people and somehow he didn’t mesh well with any of them where he lived now. Sure, there were a few people who tolerated him and he could tolerate them, but none of them were friends and none of them could keep up. It was like he had more than one universe in his head… but they got mixed up on the regular. So he didn’t always manage to find the words, but people tended to rely on those to connect.

Maybe Squirrel could keep up. Through the staring haze, his message registered and made Castiel realize silence could easily be misinterpreted.

SQUIRREL: Shit, man, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this

FEATHERS: Because I asked, because you listened first

SQUIRREL: Yeah, well, no one likes a crybaby

Okay, what the actual hell? Castiel glared at the screen, for some reason upset at the turn that took.

FEATHERS: Hey Squirrel?

SQUIRREL: Yeah?

FEATHERS: Be weird, but don’t do that. You can talk, I’ll always listen

Castiel hummed in annoyance when no reply came. So maybe Squirrel was stubborn.

FEATHERS: Did you fall asleep?

SQUIRREL: I’m here, man, you just... you are weird, but in a good way. Thanks

He smiled when he typed.

FEATHERS: Welcome

FEATHERS: You know what you also sound like? A jock :p

SQUIRREL: Excuse me? Where did that come from?

FEATHERS: Fuck me if I know where half the shit I say comes from. But yep. Something about you screams jock, so fess up

SQUIRREL: I play sports, but I might surprise you

FEATHERS: :) how?

SQUIRREL: Don’t laugh

FEATHERS: I won’t, but you’re making me very curious

SQUIRREL: Cheerleading

Wildly happy, visuals flashing before his mind’s eye, Castiel’s fingers flew over the keyboard, as he wiggled in his chair.

FEATHERS: Aaaah! Cool!

SQUIRREL: LOL, pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks so. Dad hates it and I’m the only dude. We have a show soon and the family will be there

FEATHERS: So awesome though. What made you pick that?

SQUIRREL: Coach asked because they needed muscle :) figured I’d exchange football and bowling guys over twice a week for lifting the girls

FEATHERS: Huh, cool, you do the jumps too?

SQUIRREL: the whole shebang, they don’t mess around

FEATHERS: I bet they don’t. Some of the girls seem downright scary

SQUIRREL: They can be yeah

Some time passed by, which made him a bit antsy, because he didn’t want to stop talking to Squirrel.

FEATHERS: So shall we come up with some check-in questions?

SQUIRREL: Sure

FEATHERS: I’ll go first. Ummm, what’s your favorite food?

SQUIRREL: Pie

FEATHERS: Mine’s peanut butter with grape jelly, not jam. Jam, I find unsettling

SQUIRREL: Okay, duly noted :) Burgers too. But okay, let’s use yours, it’s specific. Hold on, I’ll write it down.

Castiel waited for a while, nibbling on a cookie, before he decided to do the same. Rummaging through the mess four teenagers made when sharing the same desk, he dug up a scrap of paper and scribbled the question and answer down.

SQUIRREL: My turn. My brother and I have a thing we did as kids, whenever we got in trouble

FEATHERS: :) which was?

SQUIRREL: We’d pull our pants down, shake around and yell puddinngggg

Castiel laughed out loud, trying to imagine it, even if he had no idea what Squirrel and his brother looked like.

FEATHERS: LOL I am dying here. What the hell?

SQUIRREL: We were really small okay? And it worked more often than you’d expect, especially on mom, cause she’d just die laughing :D she still loves to bring it up when we have company and it’s unique enough to us that no one else will know

FEATHERS: So basically we open with PUDDINNNNG?

SQUIRREL: Sure and we can reply with crazy works, cause it does ;)

FEATHERS: It does

FEATHERS: Okay, other idea. Maybe we can use the handle. Like ask me if I’m the angel or something

SQUIRREL: Like with a harp and wings?

FEATHERS: No, I don’t have a harp

SQUIRREL: Dude, for real?

FEATHERS: Ohhhh, whelp, it wasn’t a real question?

SQUIRREL: It wasn’t :D

FEATHERS: Then yes, that can work

SQUIRREL: Ah shit

FEATHERS: What is it?

SQUIRREL: Mom wants me to help wash the car, so gtg for a bit. Will you be on later?

FEATHERS: depends if siblings are home or not

SQUIRREL: I’ll see when I can make it back, we also gotta eat

FEATHERS: Okay, I don’t think I’m going anywhere

FEATHERS: Oh, and explain how to make a private channel later, I have a feeling it’s gonna be helpful

SQUIRREL: Sure thing, I’ll teach you some abbreviations too

FEATHERS: Thanks, see you in a bit, Squirrel

SQUIRREL: See you in a bit, Feathers


	4. London - 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FEATHERS: Hey Squirrel?
> 
> SQUIRREL: Hmm?
> 
> FEATHERS: Thanks for not just telling me angels aren’t real…
> 
> SQUIRREL: Who’s to say for sure, right? Maybe they’re not as intangible as we think. G’night

**London, 1994**

Dean yawned around the lyrics, eyes squinting shut and watering, as the words turned to howling nonsense. He shivered, equal parts fatigue and the winter chill seeping in during the night. Although he was tired, sleep proved elusive. His eyes flicked to the screen and the Undernet channel. Ghostie’s parents divorced, forcing them to sell the family bar. She was enlisting everyone to support her vow of buying it back one day.

Dean wondered why he kept the computer on, until it dawned on him that he was basically waiting. Though they hadn’t agreed on meeting up, Dean held out hope, while he sang and wrote. The repetition of the same chords put him in a haze, almost under, his fingers moving across the strings without conscious thought.

A barely there knock on his door preceded his father walking in. Dean looked up from his guitar, eyes drooping. He wiped the sleep out of them with one hand, pinching the soft patch just above his nose bridge.

“Dean.”

He snapped to attention immediately, pulling his shoulders back and straightening up. John Winchester rarely yelled. The military had taught him he didn’t need to roar to get his way.

“Enough with that same tune. It’s late enough. Go to bed.”

“Hi, Dad,” Dean said. “I didn’t realize you were home.”

He really hadn’t.

His father narrowed his eyes at him, unsure whether Dean was being a brat or not. Apparently he decided on the former, as his jaw clenched and he stood taller, his military posture seeping in.

“Bathroom and bed. Let’s go, son.”

He shot his father a cross look, which was met with a subtly arched eyebrow. Sighing, Dean got up and obeyed. As slowly as he could. If he hoped to get a rise out of his father, he was sorely disappointed, because as soon as he saw Dean was brushing his teeth, he left with the mute assumption that Dean would comply. Dean stared at the empty doorway, toothpaste foam dripping into the sink.

He ran hot water over a washcloth and pressed it to his face, the warmth seeping into his skin. Ditching his clothes in the overflowing laundry basket, he switched to a fresh pair of boxers and his Led Zeppelin band shirt. As he passed by Sam’s room, he heard a soft snore with a touch of drool pooling in the back of his throat. An idea formed. He walked back to the bathroom, filled one of the glasses with lukewarm water. Snickering, he padded back to his brother and set it down, gingerly lowering Sam’s fingers into it.

He observed the view, grinning at himself, and retreated to his room. Now he could sleep. His computer was still humming and he made to turn it off. Dean’s fatigue was chased away like a leaf by the wind, when he saw Feathers come online. He quickly rushed over to his door to close it and kill the light. Tiptoeing across the floor, he slipped into his chair and joined the channel Feathers had set up.

SQUIRREL: Heya, Feathers! You made it back alive!

FEATHERS: Hello, Squirrel :)

FEATHERS: I did.. Only barely!

SQUIRREL: Was there an Indiana Jones like chase scene?

FEATHERS: Yeah and I almost lost my cowboy hat, but I got it right before the garage door closed

SQUIRREL: …

SQUIRREL: Really?

FEATHERS: It’s Texas. Of course I have a hat. Well, several actually

SQUIRREL: Uh-huh, obviously… But do you also wear them to school?

FEATHERS: Sometimes, depends on my mood. It doesn’t mix with my kitty ear sweater :)

SQUIRREL: Okay, good to know. But really, did your classmates chase you?

FEATHERS: Nah, I made it out in time and they behaved like dicks during class, so got held back and I made a beeline for theatre class

FEATHERS: Which means you’re up hella late

SQUIRREL: I couldn’t sleep so figured I’d wait up. Had to stop practicing my chords, because dad got pissed off

FEATHERS: Awww, you waited up?

SQUIRREL: I guess so yeah :)

FEATHERS: Indy found his treasure then :D

Was he for real? Dean did that frowny-smiley thing at the screen, where he wasn’t sure which side of the fence he wanted his face to land on. A huge yawn distracted him and then Feathers kept typing, so he followed suit, breezing past it.

FEATHERS: So what… too much noise with the guitar?

SQUIRREL: Ehh… I guess. Ironically he used to sing. But I guess you get to be a dick about it if you didn’t do anything with it and you think you know what’s best for your kid

FEATHERS: Oh, that’s always fun, yeah

FEATHERS: So what is best for you, Squirrel? Tell me :)

SQUIRREL: It’s in the NOT department

FEATHERS: Not? Is that a special unit in the Army or something?

SQUIRREL: You’re adorable. No. It’s the list of whatever dad says is NOT the right thing. So not music, not cheerleading, not internet friends

FEATHERS: Oh

FEATHERS: Bit of a party pooper that

Dean barked a laugh and with a small yelp stifled it, clamping a hand over his mouth.

SQUIRREL: LOL, for real, Feathers, your replies sometimes

FEATHERS: But it’s true! Like some grumpy little military Grinch

He snickered into his palm helplessly.

SQUIRREL: You’re killing me. I’ll make sure to picture that at the table over the holidays

FEATHERS: Shall I draw it for you?

SQUIRREL: YES! God, yes! Even if you can’t send it over, I want to know it exists

FEATHERS: Give me some basics about your dad then :)

SQUIRREL: Think dark, dark eyes, dark hair, sniper, military alpha all the way, scruff

FEATHERS: O.o holy hell. How does that work in daily life?

SQUIRREL: How do you mean?

FEATHERS: How do you deal with that level of intensity on the regular? I mean, my dad’s religious and that comes with a few issues, but this sounds…… very, very intense

SQUIRREL: Huh…

FEATHERS: Hm?

SQUIRREL: No one has ever asked me that before

FEATHERS: Really? It seems a bit of a given

SQUIRREL: No. Most people are in awe, because of how unfathomably cool my parents must be

FEATHERS: Aren’t they?

SQUIRREL: Well, yes. But no one ever wonders what it’s like living with them. Because we just do

FEATHERS: How do you mean?

SQUIRREL: It isn’t just living with parents. It’s a shitload of expectations… Because it isn’t just a job, right? We go way back in the family, on both sides

FEATHERS: Like I said…………. Intense. Does that mean they expect you to follow in their footsteps?

SQUIRREL: Yeah, they do. It’s the family business.

FEATHERS: You know… I am not extremely fond of tradition

SQUIRREL: You sometimes come off as very British in how you say things

FEATHERS: :) You want full blown Texan disapproval?

SQUIRREL: How does that sound?

FEATHERS: Probably in God’s booming voice, if you’re to believe my dad

SQUIRREL: God is everywhere, right?

FEATHERS: Oh, I fucking hope not

SQUIRREL: Same here :D but if he is, he’s a perv

FEATHERS: You might be mixing up a few things there

SQUIRREL: Are you implying I’m the perv?

FEATHERS: You caught on too quick not to be

SQUIRREL: Because angels are innocence incarnate, I’m sure

FEATHERS: Only one way to find out

SQUIRREL: I look forward to it

SQUIRREL: And come onnnnnn! You take theatre classes!

FEATHERS: Them traditions are all hat, no cattle, but bless your father’s heart for tryin’ anyway

SQUIRREL: Much obliged ;)

FEATHERS: Why do I feel like I just pandered to a kink of yours?

SQUIRREL: :)

SQUIRREL: Buuuut to answer your question… I guess I’m used to it? And he isn’t home all the time. He and Mom alternate, so it’s often a one parent kinda household

FEATHERS: Huh, a bit like mine. Dad does everything on his own, he isn’t home a lot either

SQUIRREL: We’re both latch key kids?

FEATHERS: I wish :D my siblings make up for it.

FEATHERS: Be right back, I want a snack and need the bathroom

SQUIRREL: Sure thing

He yawned and dug into his drawer in search of a candy bar, but sadly came up short, because he’d forgotten to restock. With a sigh, he rested his chin on his folded arms and stared at the conversation, willing Feathers to return faster. He was dead tired, but didn’t want to go to bed.

FEATHERS: I just realized I have a really small penis. I mean, compared to the rest of me

 _What the…_ He blinked at the screen, eyes wide, his sleepiness fading rapidly at the turn Feathers took.

SQUIRREL: Oh-kay……

SQUIRREL: I’m not sure what to say

FEATHERS: I compared with my brothers, but they’re older so that might have been a bad idea

FEATHERS: That and they’re really well endowed

SQUIRREL: …

Dean squinted in suspicion. He had only known Feathers for a few months and sure he was a touch odd in how his brain fired sometimes, but nothing like this.

FEATHERS: Is it normal for it to change color when you wank?

Dean licked his lip as he typed, giving a brief shake of his head with a grin.

SQUIRREL: Are you the angel?

FEATHERS: I got feathers, so yeah?

HA! Bastard.

SQUIRREL: Dude, you’re not Feathers. Get the fuck off his computer!

FEATHERS: Huh, well, whaddayaknow, he’s learning…

FEATHERS: You’d be surprised how often this works

SQUIRREL: I don’t know which brother you are, but you’re a big bag of dicks either way

FEATHERS: Aren’t you a mouthy little brat?

Dean balked with a huff, hackles rising. Feathers hadn’t been lying when he said his siblings were annoying.

SQUIRREL: Yeah, I got rabies too. Scram, will you? And stop messing with his friends

FEATHERS: Who says it isn’t his sister?

SQUIRREL: Cause usually it’s older brothers. I’d know, I’m one of them. Now fucking shove off

Dean glared at the screen, as if he could make Feathers’ brother vanish. There was no further reply, until…

FEATHERS: Pudding!

SQUIRREL: Crazy works and your brother is a DICK

FEATHERS: I know! I’m so sorry!

SQUIRREL: Don’t be, I’m fine

FEATHERS: Yeah, I can see that. I don’t think anyone’s ever talked to them that way. Well, not anyone our age anyway

SQUIRREL: Not even you?

FEATHERS: All the time, but they’re immune. At school, I mean, they get away with a lot

SQUIRREL: Of course they do. And what? Them? It was more than one?

FEATHERS: Both of them, actually. They’re in the couch now, completely convinced they’re hilarious

SQUIRREL: Yeah, well, they’re not and they can fuck off. It sounded like they’ve done it before

FEATHERS: They might have, I dunno, I try to log off, but sometimes it disconnects the internet so I don’t

SQUIRREL: Yeah, I get it

SQUIRREL: The questions work though :) didn’t think we’d need them for family to be honest

FEATHERS: Really? I had a vague suspicion…

FEATHERS: We might need to come up with a few others

Dean yawned and smiled through the tears that brought on. If Feathers’ brothers proved to be such dickheads, then yes, they needed to.

SQUIRREL: Gladly. Tell me a few of your favorite animals?

FEATHERS: Umm. Angels, cats and bees

SQUIRREL: Angels aren’t animals

FEATHERS: No, but I wish I could have one as a pet, so kinda

SQUIRREL: Where would you keep it?

FEATHERS: Them. Not it. Dancing on the head of a pin :)

SQUIRREL: Huh?

FEATHERS: Something I read in a book I got at the library

SQUIRREL: Fantasy, I take it?

FEATHERS: Historic theology, actually

SQUIRREL: Come again?

FEATHERS: I ran out in the teen section

SQUIRREL: You ran out of books in the library?

FEATHERS: Books that interest me, yes. Don’t you run out?

SQUIRREL: I guess we have a rather massive library on base. I read a lot of comics and…

FEATHERS: And?

SQUIRREL: Romance. Shut up

FEATHERS: I hope you’re not thinking that order will ever work on me?

SQUIRREL: I might just try

FEATHERS: Please be sure not to hold your breath then, because you won’t survive. What’s wrong with romance?

SQUIRREL: Nothing? I guess? It’s another one of those NOT things. Boys don’t read Harlequin novels

FEATHERS: I’ll make sure to tell my oldest brother

SQUIRREL: Biggest bag of dicks reads romance novels?

FEATHERS: LOL! Now I’m going to see them sitting at the Christmas table as Biggest and Big Bag of Dicks. Amazing

SQUIRREL: Try drawing that

FEATHERS: Hmmm… I might give that a hard pass

FEATHERS: But yeah, he reads romance and he couldn’t care less

SQUIRREL: Back to the angels on the head though? I’m curious

FEATHERS: Head of a pin, yes. It was a question asked in medieval times to disprove the physical existence of angels. There were people who said angels could be grouped into choirs, like the archangels and virtues, like they had a physicality

SQUIRREL: And cherubs?

FEATHERS: Yes, like Cupid

SQUIRREL: That’s the only one I know. Wait, no! Seraphs, the ones with six wings?

FEATHERS: Those too :) I like them, seraphs

SQUIRREL: Me too. So why were people wondering how many angels could dance on the head of a pin?

FEATHERS: Well, some believed in the choirs. Others said angels didn’t have bodies and so if they didn’t have a body, they couldn’t take up actual space, so in theory, an infinite number of angels could be dancing on the head of a pin at the same time

SQUIRREL: I know we’re religious on this end, but not like that… my mom used to tell me as a kid that I had an angel watching over me. There were no pins and there certainly wasn’t any dancing

SQUIRREL: I like it though. Cool idea, angels dancing among the stars

FEATHERS: …

SQUIRREL: What?

FEATHERS: Give me a second

SQUIRREL: Sure

SQUIRREL: When you’re back. Who wrote it? Or asked the question?

FEATHERS: Alright, I’m back. Needed to make a quick sketch with what you said

SQUIRREL: Sketch?

FEATHERS: Yes, you know, like that thing you do with paper and pencil

SQUIRREL: I know what a sketch is, you ass :p

FEATHERS: *grins *

FEATHERS: You’re really interested in the dude who said it?

SQUIRREL: Uhh. Is this a trick question? Yes?

FEATHERS: No, just surprised

FEATHERS: They’re not really sure, but often Thomas Aquinas is mentioned

SQUIRREL: Hold on a minute, I am hearing a vague bell ringing… He’s Italian, one of those philosopher dudes

FEATHERS: Yas, I guess you’d know more about European history? Depending on what they teach you expats overseas

SQUIRREL: Don’t know if I’d know more. I pick up most shit during class easily enough, but long term retention is a bit debatable, except for the stuff I really like

FEATHERS: Selective retention. Of course :p why am I not surprised?

SQUIRREL: Selective everything ;)

FEATHERS: Which is what? What you really like

SQUIRREL: Music and literature for the most part. History, even though the teacher’s a dick. Big fan of cowboys and the prohibition era

FEATHERS: Pick one and elaborate

SQUIRREL: Are you always this bossy?

FEATHERS: Blame the medium. Curious!

SQUIRREL: :) I guess literature then. Been reading a lot of Vonnegut and Mom is getting me Aesop’s Fables and The Canterbury Tales for Christmas

FEATHERS: Aesop’s Fables? How did that come about?

SQUIRREL: I love stories… like the druids and bards of old, the people who told stories by the fire. Aesop’s were told that way for a really long time, before they got written down in Latin and Greek

FEATHERS: You read Latin and Greek?!

SQUIRREL: Sam and I both do, a bit. Not like fluent at all, but we get private classes when we ask for something specific… one of the perks of this expat thing

FEATHERS: That’s so cool. Speak Latin to me!

SQUIRREL: Is this a weird version of speaking French to Gomez Addams?

FEATHERS: I don’t know yet, no one ever spoke Latin to me :)

SQUIRREL: _Condemnant quo non intelligent_

FEATHERS: That’s surprisingly transparent, I think?

SQUIRREL: :) tell me

FEATHERS: they condemn what is… too difficult?

SQUIRREL: Yep. They condemn that which they do not understand. Seems fitting, all in all

FEATHERS: Huh, maybe. Cool though, really cool. Another

FEATHERS: Please

SQUIRREL: He can be taught

FEATHERS: It just means I like you

SQUIRREL: Same result

FEATHERS: Gief

SQUIRREL: _Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo!_

FEATHERS: Holy shit, nope :D what’s that?

SQUIRREL: I personally like it a lot, the visuals speak to me. It means ‘If I cannot move Heaven, I will raise Hell’

FEATHERS: Oof, yes, I see why. So Acheronta is Hell?

SQUIRREL: Acheron, technically, but part of the underworld, yes

FEATHERS: So a mythology buff, I’m guessing?

SQUIRREL: Hugely. It’s a small step from reading that kind of good stuff to writing your own to then putting a tune to it

FEATHERS: Is it? It sounds like a gigantic leap for me

SQUIRREL: Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know where to begin trying to draw my Dad as The Grinch and you’re going to try without ever having seen the guy

FEATHERS: Each our own 

SQUIRREL: We can probably get some good control questions out of all this

FEATHERS: Get what?

SQUIRREL: Control questions. We were trying to come up with new ones

FEATHERS: We were?

SQUIRREL: Yes :)

FEATHERS: You’re probably right. I got distracted with all this, I love it… I wrote down a bunch of ideas to draw, my brain is tired now

SQUIRREL: I hate to admit it, but so is mine

FEATHERS: Shit. What time is it?

SQUIRREL: We just went past 4am. So much yawning

FEATHERS: Can’t you take this to bed?

SQUIRREL: It’s a fixed computer, so sadly no and I’d just pass out, leaving you hanging

FEATHERS: Like a sleepover ;)

SQUIRREL: Sure, why not, man

FEATHERS: Go to bed, Squirrel

SQUIRREL: So. Bossy.

FEATHERS: I’m really not

SQUIRREL: Just teasing.

FEATHERS: Hey Squirrel?

SQUIRREL: Hmm?

FEATHERS: Thanks for not just telling me angels aren’t real…

SQUIRREL: Who’s to say for sure, right? Maybe they’re not as intangible as we think. G’night

FEATHERS: Good night… See you in a bit, Squirrel

SQUIRREL: See you in a bit, Feathers


	5. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You alright there, Cassie?” Gabriel cut in, standing on tiptoe to get into his line of vision. Castiel tilted sideways, annoyed at the brother-sized obstacle, then glanced down. Shit. His cheeks got warm and he knew he lost.
> 
> “Yeah, ‘m fine,” he grumbled.
> 
> “Got a bit of drool… Umm,” Lucifer smirked. “Right there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A first glimpse. ^^
> 
> Also some brotherly dynamics for Cas. Luci, for once, isn't a complete dick, I swear.

**London, 2014**

How Gabriel had done it, he didn’t know, but he got tickets. Lucifer was remarkably cooperative about the whole deal, which should probably have tipped him off his brothers were up to something. They walked across the plaza to the ExCel Convention Center, Castiel taking in its high glass walls. Groups of people were scattered across the plaza and he spotted a myriad of fandom cosplays. Two Stormtroopers were jogging inside, two Jawas in tow. He was pretty sure he spotted a Full Metal Alchemist with a four-footer and his heart clenched. An insanely tall woman with translucent wings needed help to get through the doors. There were restaurants close by and from the looks of it, a shitload of small food places inside. They would want for nothing and the hotel was only a 15 minute walk away.

He _heard_ the engine before he saw the bike. A low, vibrating sound that thrummed through his body and made him look around to find its source. It came roaring around the corner, between the sign posts he was pretty sure said ‘no access’. A 1967 Norton Commando, if his eyes didn’t deceive him. In pristine condition, as was its rider, Castiel thought, when his eyes travelled from the bike to the thighs straddling it and up. The bike came to a halt in front of the convention center and its owner got off. Castiel’s eyes tracked the movement of his leg, as he threw it over the saddle. He angled himself to get a better look and the stray thought of wanting to take a ride worked its way to the forefront of his mind.

_The bike or the man?_

_Wait, hold on, where did that come from?_

That brief moment of self-reflection got blown to bits, when the broad hands removed the tinted glass helmet and… Whelp, Castiel hadn’t expected _that_. He was sure his jaw dropped at the sight. Carved From Greek Marble hung the helmet on the handle bar, ran his hands through hair the colour of champagne, readjusting it to perfection. And hello, the way that jacket fit his arms… 

Brain disconnecting, Castiel’s heart stopped beating for a few seconds when their eyes met across the distance. He thought he saw a crooked smile, a tongue flicking out between teeth and... dimples? His heart kicked in again at the hormones saturating his system. Castiel huffed, a warmth flooding his senses.

Other details were lost on him at this distance, something he regretted with a passion, but the picture painted before him... his muse fluttered his lashes at him and Castiel smiled, even as his mouth went dry. He’d missed this feeling and at this safe distance, he could keel over into the sensation without any risk to himself.

Except he forgot about his brothers for a split second, there. As he was wont to do since childhood, usually to his own detriment.

“You alright there, Cassie?” Gabriel cut in, standing on tiptoe to get into his line of vision. Castiel tilted sideways, annoyed at the brother-sized obstacle, then glanced down. _Shit._ His cheeks got warm and he knew he lost.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he grumbled.

“Got a bit of drool… Umm,” Lucifer smirked. “Right there.”

Castiel batted his hands away and tried to scowl, but the effects of the guy lingered and he couldn’t fully shake the smile. He searched him out again, finding him walking towards the doors, all smooth confidence and bow legs.

“Damn, Castiel,” Lucifer smiled. “I thought you were lost to the world. Good to see some of it still reaches you.”

“Dibs,” Castiel said, then almost snarled at his brothers. “Disregard that, _immediately_.”

Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up and Gabriel threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, you’ll never hear the end of this. Let’s go inside, see if that specimen happens to be moving in similar circles.”

“I agree. This alone was worth the trip,” Lucifer said.

“I’m glad you two are taking such joy from this.”

“Cassie, I haven’t seen your eyes twinkle like that in years, so excuse us while we applaud the man for simply existing and making it so,” Gabriel said, as he threw an arm around him.

That contentment in Gabe’s voice, he hadn’t heard in a long time, so he couldn’t fault his brother for it. Not really. Hell, even Luci looked genuinely pleased.

“Was that a Star Trek reference?”

Impulse overriding his self-control, Castiel looked back to the doors, but the guy was gone. A hitch of disappointment quivered in his chest, mingling with elation at how this holiday was kicking off. This was why he was here, all in all, experiences, surprises… Anything and everything that would electrify his soul back into working order.

They walked into the ExCel.

*

Dean looked back to the doors, feeling a touch smug. People staring, usually he thought it was rude, but he hadn’t minded this one’s eyes glued to him. Not one bit. Pretty sure his mouth had gone slack while he did. A disheveled head of black hair. Dark faded vintage t-shirt, too wide at the v-neck, revealing collar bone. Black shirt, denim jacket, taut across the shoulders. Simple and dark, but gravitational in its effect. A jawline to cut himself on. Enough stubble to wonder what it’d feel like…

 _Whoa, get a grip, Winchester_.

Or not, he smiled at himself, as he chased the thought down the rabbit hole. No harm, no foul in his own mind. He turned the corner into the dealer’s room to get to the elevators and almost tripped when someone threw herself in his path.

“What are you so happy about?”

Dean stopped in his tracks and leaned towards her, as he recognized the sharp features, framed by a head of blonde hair.

“Hi, Ghostie. C’mere, you!”

He hugged her tight. It had been years since he’d seen her. Most of the Undernet crew made it this year, which was a feat and he so looked forward to piling up in their rooms. Five days would never be enough. Silver lining with another SCA event lined up next weekend.

She nudged him when he let go. “So?”

“Oh, you were serious with that question?”

“Yeah, I was.”

He thumbed over his shoulder, suddenly feeling shy without knowing the cause. “Just.. a handsome as fuck guy checking me out outside.”

Jo laughed, as they fell into step. “That would make your day. How’ve you been? I saw Colt outside yesterday, so that got sorted?”

“Yep, dude paid up and Colt’s purring like a kitten again. Well, maybe more of a cheetah than a kitten. What about you?”

She beamed, a spring to her step, when she spoke. “I’ll let you in already, but the official announcement should be at the room party. So hush until then. We bought the bar.”

“The Roadhouse?! Ahhh, yessss, Jo, you know we’re gonna barge down your door. I mean, once I can pay for the next trip.”

“I’m counting on it. What’s your schedule today?”

“Demonstrations today, Saturday and Sunday. 1300 today, 1100 tomorrow and 1700 Sunday, but check the app for changes.”

“Anything else?”

“The Masquerade on Sunday.” When she didn’t respond, his penny dropped at the unsubtle subtlety and he shot her a crooked smile. “Alright, who spilled?”

Jo bared her teeth at him in a goofy grin. “Charlie. Sam. Everyone knows.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So what? I’m gonna have a team of cheerleaders on the sideline tomorrow?”

“You’d be better equipped for that. I don’t think they’ll allow us in, but we’re prepared. Sam even dug up some of your old pompoms.”

“Please don’t,” Dean said. “But I’ll imagine it in my mind’s eye as I sit through empty conversation with fellow weirdos who have no idea how to human.”

She linked her arm through his. “You human too much, Dean, that’s always been your problem.”

“Whatever that means,” he smiled, as he kissed her on the forehead. “Where you off to?”

“Board game shift today and the night shift tomorrow. Then running a few Werewolves games whenever needed.”

“Awesome, I’ll make sure to join one. Is Benny on security again?”

“Yep, so he’s not gonna have a lotta wiggle room. Understaffed.”

“As long as he makes it to one room party, I’m good. Gotta make the most of the time we get. I’ll carry him fireman style if I have to.”

“I’ll let him know. He might stall for that very reason.” Jo smiled, that warm smile that made him remember why he’d held onto them with all his might ever since his teenage years.


	6. 1995

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SQUIRREL: This is taking for fucking ever
> 
> FEATHERS: But it’s workinnnnng :) :)
> 
> They waited in united, jittery silence. A gentle sound dinged when his file went through and he grinned when Feathers immediately sent one of his. Dean found himself waiting, his leg bouncing under his elbow, hand going through his hair. He could tell it stood on end, tugging at his scalp.

**Rome, 1995**

Dean leaned back in his chair, sitting in his boxers, legs wide, because fuck this heat. In the evening! Even the leather necklace was annoying him, but he refused to take it off. It hadn’t left his neck since Sam had given it to him for Christmas five years ago. Thank hell for A/C, because he’d probably die of a heatstroke otherwise. He loathed Italy. It was too hot, too bright and its inhabitants were loud.

So it was only natural that he turned towards the relative quiet of the Internet in the late hours of the night. On cue, he got bombarded when he came online, Feathers up front.

FEATHERS: Puddinnng!

SQUIRREL: Crazy works!

FEATHERS: Hello Squirrel!

SQUIRREL: Hey Feathers :) hi guys

JARETH: What the actual hell?

WEREBOY: Don’t bother, Jar, they’ve developed their own language like those couples who’ve been together too long.

JARETH: I get that, but puddin? Is this some Joker/Harley stuff?

WEREBOY: Why does he always get a separate greeting, I wonder?

WEREBOY: Hi SQ :p :)

GHOSTWRITER: Same reason they regularly vanish into a private channel, I imagine?

SQUIRREL: Yeah, watch us :p just cause you’re being nosy dicks

GHOSTWRITER: Excuse me, I don’t have one of those! And always fun if you join for like five seconds before fucking off

FEATHERS: Awww, you’re making me feel guilty

SQUIRREL: Love you too, Ghostie

Decidedly not feeling guilty, Dean ignored her further protests and opened a separate channel. They’d promised to spend time together to share writing and art ideas. Or just company. The bunch was the best, always made him smile, more often than not drove him up the wall, but with Feathers, things had grown differently in a year. Besides it wasn’t like they were constantly in their own channel.

Having a best friend an ocean away was something Dean never expected to find online. Feathers always knew what to say or not to say, even if Dean didn’t reveal what was going on in his head. And on the rare occasions that he did voice something, often through lyrics, Feathers seemed to understand without having to say much. He had a way of moving through his words which made it seem so effortless. Although he wasn’t brilliant with words himself, when he talked about his art, Dean could almost see it. It spoke volumes, it painted universes and it was real. He was starting to see why people would call him weird, but even with an ocean between them, Dean believed it was more down to an erratic mind. And people being dicks.

It took some getting used to, was all.

Still… He rolled his eyes at the first words Feathers typed.

FEATHERS: Hey, sorry about that

SQUIRREL: Stop apologizing for behavior you don’t control, man. We’re good. And they gotta learn ;)

He’d been chewing a question for a while. Most handles were obvious. Some weren’t. Many were harmless, silly choices like his own.

SQUIRREL: Quick question?

FEATHERS: Shoot

SQUIRREL: What’s with the handle?

FEATHERS: Feathers?

SQUIRREL: No, tar. Yes, Feathers.

FEATHERS: Bit bitey today, Squirrel?

SQUIRREL: I really really don’t like this heat -_- or this country

FEATHERS: That bad?

SQUIRREL: For me, it is.. You can ward against the cold and rain, but what can I do against this heat, besides get naked? Strip my skin off?

FEATHERS: Are you saying you’re permanently naked these days whenever we chat?

SQUIRREL: Well, fucking yeah. Aren’t you in the hellhole that is Texas?

FEATHERS: Umm, not really? I get cold feet easily

FEATHERS: Like icicle they will give you a heart attack if they so much as hover near your skin cold feet

SQUIRREL: :) I could do with those right now

FEATHERS: Awww, probably one of the sweetest things anyone has said to me recently

SQUIRREL: Then you hang out with the wrong people, man

FEATHERS: I barely hang out with people except you and the crew

SQUIRREL: There is no accounting for taste

FEATHERS: I will have you know I have excellent, if somewhat unconventional tastes

When Feathers fell silent, he figured he was avoiding the earlier subject, so he reached for his guitar, plucking the strings in search of the rest of a tune he had been working on, giving the conversation some silence.

FEATHERS: My mom used to call me angel when I was a kid, so I kinda went for that

Pressing the guitar close to his chest, he zoned in on the words that reeked of a sudden and dramatic shift in Feathers’ reality.

SQUIRREL: … used to?

FEATHERS: Umm.. yes. She’s dead. It’s just me, my siblings and our father. And I guess, the fact that our sister has the same hereditary disease

Dean winced. Ah, fuck… Of course he had to go and prod the painful bits.

SQUIRREL: Shit, sorry for poking at that

FEATHERS: It’s okay, I don’t mind. I’m the second to youngest so I don’t remember her all that well. Just that

SQUIRREL: You… wanna talk about it?

FEATHERS: Mom or sis?

SQUIRREL: Either or

FEATHERS: Sis is doing kinda okay for now. It’s hard to say how it will manifest for her

SQUIRREL: Is she like dying? Stop me if this is too much

FEATHERS: We’re all dying :p

“What the hellllllll, Feathers,” he muttered out loud. His reply was fast, gut-motivated.

SQUIRREL: Dude O.o I know you’re right, but for real

FEATHERS: It’s true

SQUIRREL: It is, but I asked if she specifically was dying any time soon. Since you’re gonna be difficult about it

FEATHERS: I don’t talk about it much and I get weird, I did warn you

SQUIRREL: So you did. Still here though

FEATHERS: So you are

Dean raked his fingers through his hair, squinting at the screen, unsure how to proceed. Until he saw Feather’s typing.

FEATHERS: To answer your question then, no, she’s not dying and I don’t know what to say

SQUIRREL: That’s fine. I don’t know either

They sat in silence for a while and he hoped it felt as oddly comfortable for Feathers as it did for him. How this even worked, he had no idea.

SQUIRREL: It’s a sweet nickname, angel

FEATHERS: I was a chubby little blond… not sure how cute it is

SQUIRREL: *smiles * that’s cute

FEATHERS: What about yours?

SQUIRREL: I was a platinum blond

FEATHERS: Your handle, wise-guy :)

Dean let out the breath he’d been holding, for fear he fucked something up. Somehow he prodded the painful bits of people’s lives easily. At school too, even without trying, he found himself listening to angst he never asked for. Listening seemed to do the trick often enough, but that didn’t necessarily make him feel like he knew what he was doing.

SQUIRREL: :) Ehh, that’s just silly. Uncle Bobby calls me and my brother after this dumb old cartoon… Moose and Squirrel and for some reason it stuck

FEATHERS: So you’re the tiny Squirrel?

SQUIRREL: I’m a lotta things, Feathers, tiny ain’t one of them. But my brother seems to be getting his spurt so who knows, maybe he outgrows me… lanky little shit

Damn, he used his uncle’s real name. Another effect Feathers had. He made him drop his guard. That and Dean wasn’t always in the mood to play by his dad’s rules.

FEATHERS: Awww you love him I can tell

SQUIRREL: Even through this medium? What kind of fresh hell is this?

FEATHERS: Didn’t I tell you I was psychic?

SQUIRREL: Oh no my deepest darkest secrets!

FEATHERS: You’re just easy to read, you ass, even with an ocean between us

SQUIRREL: Lies

FEATHERS: Are you always this full of it?

SQUIRREL: Define it

FEATHERS: BS that you don’t care

SQUIRREL: Very cute, pillow stuffing. I might be

FEATHERS: :) Everybody loves a good pillow, is what I’m thinking

SQUIRREL: You ain’t wrong there, I am severely sleep-deprived, because I keep drinking coffee to stay awake, then can’t sleep and on repeat… which probably explains why I stuffed my foot in my mouth earlier

FEATHERS: You did not. We are perfectly fine, Squirrel

FEATHERS: need some pillow stuffing to sleep? ;)

Dean smirked, sliding his tongue over his teeth. That right there… Likely another reason they got along so well. He glanced at the door to his room, suddenly worried one of his parents might walk in on him. In his boxers. Flirting with a dude online. Not that they’d know Feathers was a dude and he could lie his way out easily enough. But… Yeah… no. He quickly changed the subject.

SQUIRREL: Maybe next time :) did you make any progress on that last piece?

FEATHERS: a tiny bit, I can’t get the colors the way I like them, the wings are too bright. I might need to start over

FEATHERS: I may have added a second person, but now it’s a hot mess

SQUIRREL: Orly? ;) ;) ;)

FEATHERS: Umm. Shit.. Hahaha, well, it is a mess

SQUIRREL: A hot mess even, me likey

FEATHERS: You did not just say that

SQUIRREL: What can I say, lizard brain is not my friend

FEATHERS: Oh, stop teasing, I like it

SQUIRREL: As you should, I mean, smut comes in many forms

FEATHERS: I feel I want to be insulted… but I’m not

SQUIRREL: Good. Cause you shouldn’t be. Not on here, not ever. 

SQUIRREL: Also! Don’t toss work too quickly, sometimes it takes some time. Did the gold idea work?

FEATHERS: yes :) thanks for that. How’s the Lazarus song going?

SQUIRREL: Kinda okay? Suffering a bit with where to have him dig his way up. I don’t wanna use a graveyard, too typical

FEATHERS: What about a crop circle

SQUIRREL: Like corn?

FEATHERS: Or flattened trees? Too alien otherwise

SQUIRREL: I am trying to imagine it. Visuals are not my thing

FEATHERS: They are, just with words

Feathers possessed an enviable, relentless conviction. Dean gave it some thought, scribbling down the stream of consciousness Feathers’ suggestion released. Staring at his messy handwriting, he gave a nod, chewing the pencil. Something restless, that annoying feeling he got whenever he tried to grasp at straws when writing, seemed to calm down, as it usually did with Feather’s help. He glanced at the screen, saw Feathers typing, then reconsidering and huffed a soft smile as his patience.

SQUIRREL: I’m good, just wrote down some stuff

FEATHERS: Good, I figured I’d wait. But FYI, I think I found a program that’ll allow us to share files

SQUIRREL: Ah! Share

FEATHERS: It’s called ICQ

SQUIRREL: Hold on, I’ll check if it’s legit and safe to use

Dean quickly looked up the program and ran a few diagnostics. It seemed legit and he really liked the idea of being able to share stuff with Feathers. Maybe he could record bits of songs. If he got over his fear of his voice leaving the privacy of his own room.

SQUIRREL: Cool! Looks good, think we’re safe to download it. If the info is correct, we’ll be able to open private chat windows and share files

FEATHERS: Great :) wanna give it a try?

SQUIRREL: Yeah!

SQUIRREL: Umm.. Shit

FEATHERS: What?

SQUIRREL: Mom just called me downstairs, a girl from school’s here

FEATHERS: A random girl or a friend? :)

SQUIRREL: A friend :p from cheerleading. Well, girlfriend if I play my cards right, I asked her out on a whim and she agreed

FEATHERS: Oh. OH!

Dean watched with interest as the conversation lulled into silence. For some reason his heart was going nuts and his attention drifted to Lisa. He’d forgotten he asked her out to the movies, hence the boxers and totally unprepared levels. Strangely he also didn’t really want to go.

FEATHERS: Nice… What’s her name?

SQUIRREL: Lisa :) So I gtg

FEATHERS: Okay, see you tomorrow?

SQUIRREL: Think we’re going out with the fam, but I’ll come online at night. Who needs sleep right? See you in a bit, Feathers

FEATHERS: See you in a bit, Squirrel

He figured he’d try harder this time around. He really did. He joined Sam and Charlie as often as he could stomach it, to whatever party or social gathering they came up with. Ran into a pleasant creature now and then, but nothing stuck. Sam was his only real anchor, besides his parents. Charlie was still cute and annoying, like the little sister he never wanted. 

And now there was Lisa. Beautiful dark-eyed, sweet Lisa. A fellow military kid who looked like she could be a local. A surge of nerves hit him, but he rolled his shoulders until it was gone. Well, almost.

Dean threw on a fresh t-shirt and shorts. Another thing. He hated shorts. Tugging the necklace out of his shirt, he ruffled his hair with both hands, threw on his leather bracelet, shoved his wallet in his back pocket. He made a flash pit stop in the bathroom to take a leak, checked his teeth in the mirror and put on some of his cologne. This was as good as it was gonna get at such short notice. Stopping in Sam’s room, he stole a pack of gum and popped a piece in his mouth on the way down.

*

**Texas, 1995**

Castiel had been surprised when Squirrel brought up a girlfriend, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the flirting had given him the wrong idea. His brain did that sometimes, throwing up surprises out of the blue. He’d learned to roll with it, especially when it felt like he was making assumptions about people he had no right to. Even when it hurt. Also, he had his hands full by now.

FEATHERS: Hey, crew, okay if I invite someone into the channel?

SQUIRREL: One of us, one of us!

WEREBOY: Fresh blood?

GHOSTWRITER: Sure thing, Feathers. Who is it?

His fingers itched and Castiel rubbed them together a few times, humming nervously. It wasn’t that difficult or complicated, even if Meg was a handful. How could she not be if they got along? He added her to the channel, acutely aware she could read it.

FEATHERS: My girlfriend. Who knew? I actually made a friend

PUREEVIL: I believe that’s my cue, hi everyone, handle’s pure, call me Evil

JARETH: Hahaha! Trouble in an unsubtle handle. Pleased to meet you, Evil! Where’d he dig you up?

PUREEVIL: School of course, isn’t that where most of you have friends too? Oh, right, no, that’s why you’re here

SQUIRREL: Wow, that’s the entrance you wanna make? Really?

PUREEVIL: Squirrel.. I’ve heard of you. A lot

SQUIRREL: Of course you have ;) I’m adorable, luv

Rolling his head backwards, Castiel tried to see the back of his skull and grinned anyway. Because of course this was what they were going to do. His girlfriend and best friend. Of course.

GHOSTWRITER: Only of him? I’m so insulted

PUREEVIL: Nah, all of you. So how long before this sorry ass online gig gets together for real?

WEREBOY: Lol, she’s on board!

JARETH: So you a Texas critter too

PUREEVIL: Hell on Earth, just how I like it

SQUIRREL: Is she always like this?

FEATHERS: Yes, though irl it’s easier to see through it

PUREEVIL: Aww, sweetpea, you say the nicest things about me

JARETH: Let me guess, all lies :) we’ll get along just fine, Evil

GHOSTWRITER: Pure is her sweet alter ego maybe

Castiel scoffed at that and muttered out loud. “Not bloody likely.”

Yeah, okay, they’d be fine enough. What else had he expected? If Jake had been safe, Meg would be too, even with all her caustic behavior. That and she was crazy fun to be around. A human being at his school he got along with, who actually wanted to spend time with him.

Squirrel’s bite was tangible, likely only to him, which tugged at his heart strings. Ever since Lisa showed up, they spent noticeably less time together, though not for lack of lamenting the fact. There were days when he felt physically antsy. Like he needed his Squirrel fix.

With Meg around, that might get worse still and as much as he liked her, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

*

**Rome, 1995**

Another night, another intruder. Dean glowered at the offensive nickname. PureEvil. Who goes by Pure Evil? And the mouth on her. He tugged his notebook closer, writing down what had been swirling in his skull, tapping away at his nerves and non-existent patience. Lisa had been asking him to please, please, please share his writing and singing, but he couldn’t… maybe didn’t want to. They got along quite well and got into enough trouble off the radar to keep them both entertained. Still, he didn’t feel like sharing with her.

And the idea that had been growing for a while blossomed.

Of course.

He opened a private channel and vanished from the group channel. Seconds ticked by, as he waited for Feathers to catch on. As they often did when the other vanished, he joined without question and like that, it was just the two of them.

FEATHERS: Hey, you alright? Everything okay?

His chest warmed at the obvious worry.

SQUIRREL: Yeah, man, I’m fine. You?

FEATHERS: Sure. Fine too, though dad’s been giving me a hard time about being online so much, cause they brought it up at church. 

FEATHERS: Because we’re all Satanists out here. And Meg’s mouth doesn’t help

SQUIRREL: Hahaha, that’s what you get for dating Satan’s spawn.

FEATHERS: I know… It was one visit and I’m pretty sure she got blacklisted immediately. And you do know she’ll take that as a compliment

SQUIRREL: She would…

SQUIRREL: And blacklisted? What the hell, Feathers… Anything we need to worry about? Stage a kidnapping?

FEATHERS: Nah, I just gotta make sure he doesn’t find out who I’m hanging out with. As far as dad is concerned, we’re all nice, normal people here

SQUIRREL: Who talk about God and the Bible and living the righteous life?

FEATHERS: Exactly

SQUIRREL: That’ll fly

FEATHERS: A specific reason you vanished in our channel?

SQUIRREL: Wondering if you wanted to give ICQ a try? We got distracted last time

FEATHERS: Technically you got distracted

That provoked a silence and Dean worried the inside of his cheek, cursed when he bit down too hard.

“Fuck it,” he grunted, as he started typing in an attempt to push through the awkward. They hadn’t talked decently in too long.

SQUIRREL: I think I wanna share a song and I wanna see your art, finally

FEATHERS: Smooth, very smooth. But probably the right thing to distract me. So yes! Please, let’s go

That eagerness never failed to make him smile and some of the knots in his chest seemed to loosen up, as they got to setting up their ICQ and ensuring their handles were the same. It was different, when they logged on with an actual private chat window and the means to share files. 

His hands were shaking as he messed around, trying to figure out how to send the file, finding it was too big, figuring that out, while Feathers got more impatient by the minute. In real life, it would have been easier… He’d have just grabbed his guitar and sang him a song.

Would he?

Yeah. Sure.

Instead, he sorted it out and managed to send the file, watching it process. Soooo. Fucking. Slow.

SQUIRREL: This is taking for fucking ever

FEATHERS: But it’s workinnnnng :) :)

They waited in united, jittery silence. A gentle sound dinged when his file went through and he grinned when Feathers immediately sent one of his. Dean found himself waiting, his leg bouncing under his elbow, hand going through his hair. He could tell it stood on end, tugging at his scalp.

SQUIRREL: Did it make it? Can you play it? I’m warning you, the quality isn’t that great, I sound better in real life, I swear

FEATHERS: Yes and yes. And I’m sure you do. Now hush

SQUIRREL: :p

He made a face at the screen, because he’d never really listened to anyone hushing him.

“But here we are,” he muttered, digging in his drawer for something to eat. 

Twix this time around. He didn’t want to leave the computer for ice cream. Almost vibrating out of his skin with nerves, he pushed one hand down on the offensive leg, forcing it to stillness, staring at the screen hard.

FEATHERS: Oh… Wow… I love it

SQUIRREL: Really? Not just saying that?

FEATHERS: When did we ever just say anything. No, Squirrel, I love it.. the lyrics. Can’t find the word, how ironic. Evocative! That’s it, I can draw something to go with it, like a snowy Nordic landscape

SQUIRREL: I used Norse myths as inspiration, so uh-huh :) :) go on

FEATHERS: Your voice is very soothing

SQUIRREL: Ahhh, shit

FEATHERS: What?

SQUIRREL: Cheeks are warm

FEATHERS: Really? I’m getting Squirrel to blush?

SQUIRREL: Shut up :p

FEATHERS: I love this. I’ll say it again, your voice is soothing, I’m putting it on repeat, maybe when I go to sleep :)

He put his hands to his cheeks, cursing the Italian climate. No way was he going to get sleep any time soon and he might need to go get that ice cream to cool his system. That had been an unexpected rollercoaster, but he felt aglow at the praise and his attention shifted.

SQUIRREL: Thanks, man :) I think this is the first time I shared it outside the family

FEATHERS: Serious? I’d have thought you used this on all the girls

SQUIRREL: Nah, man, too personal and I don’t need to

FEATHERS: Of course not :p

SQUIRREL: Your files made it through!

FEATHERS: Nerves

SQUIRREL: :) let me check the folder

SQUIRREL: Whoa, how many did you send?

FEATHERS: Everything you had a hand in since we met :D

SQUIRREL: That… That’s a lot

FEATHERS: Well duh, we’ve talked a lot

FEATHERS: Can I get back to you on more feedback? I feel like I wanna listen more. Do you have any others to send?

SQUIRREL: Take your time! Patience, Feathers, I’m looking at your art

FEATHERS: I want to hear more :) we’ve been talking about this stuff for over a year!

SQUIRREL: I know! Give me a second, damnit, I wanna have my full brain for this and it was already half melted before your praise

Feathers was being oddly impatient and Dean laughed. At all of this. Sharing their stuff. Finding that Feathers enjoyed it. And holy hell, he’d never imagined what his art would look like, but it was beyond anything he’d imagined.

Clean lines, soft at the edges, like everything was dipped in water. Landscapes, but something off-beat slipped into everything. A tiny supernatural creature. Glowing eyes in the dark. And wings… Several pieces had wings or at least feathers worked into them. Delicate figures with two, four, six pairs of wings, draped across the paper.

A Grinch John Winchester. It didn’t actually look like his father, because how could it, but the idea was put to paper so gloriously, he laughed out loud. The tension in the posture was spot on.

And then he got to the last two. The dates told him they were the most recent. His cheeks burned. _That_ , he hadn’t expected and he grinned, as he tilted his head to take it in. A straight couple and two dudes… and he couldn’t find it in him to judge or not sink into it. Hot damn, Feathers.

He couldn’t quite see enough of the details, because the scans didn’t do them justice and all of a sudden, he wished they could exchange addresses, because he wanted to meet the guy behind it. So bad.

He chewed his Twix slowly, letting it sit between his lips to free up his hands. The glare of the screen was starting to hurt his eyes. Or the fatigue.

SQUIRREL: Holy Hell, Feathers, where do I start? They’re amazing, such clean lines and I love the wings and the creepy atmosphere on the forest one, and the weird creatures. Did you make them all up? It’s painted, right? Soft and sharp angles at the same time, I wish I could see them in real life

SQUIRREL: You surprise me too

FEATHERS: In a good way, right?

SQUIRREL: In the best way. And those last two are hot

FEATHERS: Stop already, now my cheeks are burning

SQUIRREL: Revennnnge. This is so awesome, man, you are so good. Feathers are a bit of an obsession?

FEATHERS: I guess they are, I made my family call me by the name for a while :)

SQUIRREL: How did that go?

FEATHERS: Ehhh, one brother played along, sis too, other brother no and dad hated it

SQUIRREL: I think the three-winged one is my favorite, I can’t stop looking, though the smut ones are something else

FEATHERS: The upside down one in space

SQUIRREL: Yeah, I can’t say why really. Looks lonely, but not quite that, I wish I could see the original

FEATHERS: Kinda like I wish I could hear you sing irl, but that isn’t happening so send me more

SQUIRREL: Alright, alright! Jeez, bossy :D

FEATHERS: The word you’re looking for is appreciative or fan

SQUIRREL: Right back at you

And just like that, that heavy feeling on his shoulders alleviated and he could breathe more easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had a friend like this back then. We shared our stories and endless emails, having met through Fanfiction.net and LiveJournal. My age shows.


	7. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel glared at his brothers across his full continental breakfast, which had lost all its appeal. “You enrolled me in what?”
> 
> “Speed dating,” Gabriel mouthed around his croissant. “Geek speed dating, so the odds should be in your favor.”

**London, 2014**

Castiel glared at his brothers across his full continental breakfast, which had lost all its appeal. “You enrolled me in _what?_ ”

“Speed dating,” Gabriel mouthed around his croissant. “Geek speed dating, so the odds should be in your favor.”

“Does the word consent mean anything to you?”

This provoked an empathic shift in Gabe’s demeanor and he exchanged a look with Lucifer. Both knew damn well.

“It does. So you’ll be glad to know I simply filled in your file. It’s still up to you to confirm.”

Castiel groaned. “What file?”

“Only basics. Name, number and sexuality. There’s a link you can use to confirm.”

“They have a gay speed date track?”

Gabriel nodded. “One for every letter of the alphabet, I think, at this con.”

Castiel’s phone yelled _‘Shiny!’_ at him and he glanced down to find the link Gabe mentioned in his Whatsapp. With a sigh, he unlocked it and glared. Interestingly, his brothers dropped the subject, enjoying their food, while Castiel fiddled with the phone. His brow knit together.

He switched to the Con app and went looking for the speed dating slot. Not much intel beyond what made sense for such an occasion. Indeed, a track for LGBTQIA. At 3pm today. It didn’t even clash with any of the other activities he’d lined up. 

He hummed, pursing his lips, and scrolled down, but found little else of interest to distract him. His mind wandered, but he didn’t pay enough attention where it travelled to exactly… his thoughts skittered to the past weeks, months… and further back to a time where he wouldn’t need to worry about consent. He thought fear was no longer his prime motivator, but caution sure as hell was. Castiel loathed it… Sometimes the urge to go back to that time Before snuck up on him, but he’d done enough work to recognize and sidestep it. He had a firm grip on what he didn’t want. What he _did_ want was quite a different beast. For a split second, his mind called up the image of the guy on the bike and he licked his lips.

Only one way to find out… his thumb clicked the confirmation link. He cast a furtive glance across the table, but Gabe had pulled up the Con app as well and was scrolling through activities with Lucifer.

Shrugging off the sudden nerves, he pretended nothing had happened and went back to his breakfast.

“Where are you guys headed?”

“Old Doctor Who screening,” Lucifer said.

“Classic,” Castiel smiled. “Classic Doctor Who. You’ll never make friends like that.”

“Watch me,” Lucifer winked. “But I want to leave early. There’s a panel about sustainable energy I want to get into.”

Gabriel nodded. “It’s at the same time as the companion robots one, so… shit.”

Castiel searched their faces for any sign of mockery, especially Gabe and his ‘companion robots’ and found none. He smirked and resisted the ‘I told you so’ that was on the tip of his tongue by shoving the last of the luke-warm tomato in his mouth.

Oh, fuck it.

“You almost sound like you’re enjoying yourselves.”

Gabriel squinted a smile at him and Lucifer did that trick where he tilted his head, corners of his mouth down in an arrogant affirmation with a flourish of his hand.

“Where are you headed?”

“Board games first. Then a panel on bees. And the speed date.”

Gabriel ripped the wrapping off his lollipop with a flourish. “We good to go?”

“Sure as hell.”

“Where do you keep getting those, Gabe?”

“Shops, Cassie, they do have them in London. I can’t believe this. We cross the ocean and the kid still barely leaves his room.”

“You’re killing me, Gabe.”

*

Dean wandered the main convention hall, taking in the sights and scents. There was a pizza and sushi stall in this area. He bought two slices from the first one. Balancing the hot cardboard plate on one hand, he took a huge bite out of the meaty slice, and danced around a crowd of teenagers. It took him all of two seconds to recognize Adam, when the kid halted smack in front of him and plucked some salami off his pizza.

“Hiya, Mr. Winchester!” He popped the piece in his mouth, smirking, a far cry from the scared boy he’d dealt with a few months ago.

He grinned around his full mouth and swallowed the food. Opening one arm, he gave the kid a hug.

“Adam, how are you, buddy?”

“Look around you,” the kid said. “How do you think I am?”

So it was a good day. That was something. Dean scanned him for any signs of damage, but he seemed unharmed. Kid smelled clean too, so in all likelihood he was with his mom. Something in the way his smile didn’t quite fully make it triggered his feelers, but Dean dismissed it. Off duty. Social setting. He refocused.

“You here with your crew?”

Dean glanced at the other teenagers, but strangely recognized none of them. Not one went to their school.

“And my mom,” he said, visibly mortified. “She’s in the dealer’s room.”

“Who’s this motley crew?” He flashed a smile at them and found them mirrored by some, with a few confused, curious faces added. A girl with a guitar on her back grinned wide. The boy next to her tugged at his beanie reflexively.

“The online friends I talked about.”

Dean’s heart warmed. That was something Adam only mentioned once, but it made sense. “They are the best usually. You kids enjoy yourselves, yeah?”

Adam gave him that crooked grin. “Oh, we will.”

Dean couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice, as he tried to give him a stern look. “And stay outta trouble.”

“You too, Mr. Winchester. Was that Colt I saw parked in the no parking area out front?”

Dean barked a laugh and resisted the urge to ruffle Adam’s hair. Instead he fist bumped him by way of goodbye. “I’ll see you, kid.”

Shaking his head in amusement, he took a few steps towards the art exhibition, but with food, he preferred not to venture in. Maybe tomorrow, when the main bulk of the artists would be in. He watched a group of wandering Mad Max cosplayers put on a show and stopped a dad Wolverine with impressively accurate hair and his tiny Wolverine son in their tracks for a picture. A huge Warhammer Ultramarine trudged past with slow strides, his giant weapon on one shoulder, and people cut him a wide berth to take pictures and crane their necks, getting a better look. Dean grinned and let out a content sigh.

Pizza finished, he turned into the dealer’s room, falling into a slow, random pattern of checking out every stall. He caught sight of two guys, walking hand in hand, one in plaid and one in a trench coat with wings, unsure which fandom that was, but he thought they looked cute.

The wings on the one in the trench coat made him blink twice and he rolled his shoulder muscles, remembering. For a while his eyes lingered on the guy’s back and then he saw the stall where he likely bought them. 

Dean made a beeline for it. Hanging from a metal grid were a myriad of harnesses with wings, some reminiscent of existing animals, others full-blown fantasy. The luscious glimmer of peacock greens and blues, with long feathers reaching low to the ground. The clean white and deep brown of the osprey. The steel grey and dappled feathers of the peregrine falcon. He jumped slightly with a “Son of a bitch” when he spotted the lady hidden behind the table, between a shitload of boxes of material. She tilted her head at him like a bird would and he smiled, recovering from the minor scare.

“May I?” he asked, pointing at the harnesses.

“Touch them? Sure, if you’re gentle.”

Dean smiled, looking back to the pieces of art. “Always.”

He ran his hands through the feathers gently. Ochre and blue of the merlin bird. Oh, this was a find… Not that he’d ever wear them, but his love for wings was a given. His eyes fell to a smaller pair of wings, as black as space was endless and he had to look closer at the details in them, because they were so subtle. When he touched them, they shimmered like stardust.

“Well, if it ain’t Dean Winchester, still obsessed with Feathers.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned around, crossing his arms, a good-humored smile on his face. Benny in full security outfit flashed him a toothy smile as he walked over. They took themselves so dreadfully serious, the Spartan team, but Dean couldn’t blame them. Benny had the craziest stories.

“Jar, buddy! I’ll have you know I signed up for the speed date.”

“Uh-uh, come here, brother,” Benny smiled and pulled Dean into a hug.

“Don’t lament my crush and call me brother in the same minute, brother.”

“It ain’t a sin if it don’t make you cry.”

Dean wisely kept his mouth shut, as he slapped both hands into Benny’s shoulders. “How’ve you been, man? How’s your daughter?”

“Feisty as ever, but safely with her mother back in New Orleans.”

“They didn’t join?”

“Elizabeth is too young and Andrea… Well,” he smiled, as he made a tsk-ing sound, eyes alight. “She’s pregnant again, so she didn’t want to fly.”

“But she was okay with you fucking off?”

“Of course.” He lifted his left hand and twirled his wedding ring around his finger. “This is supposed to breathe, my good man. Can’t fall off, but shouldn’t be a vice either.”

“Beautiful, Benny, that’s just beautiful.”

“Not all of us are word wizards like you,” Benny chuckled. “But it works all the same.”

Dean’s face fell before he could get a handle on it. Wings, Feathers and Words made it difficult not to think back. Benny nudged his shoulder into him, as they started walking, Dean giving the bird lady a thank you nod. “Still not writing?”

“Nah, too busy with the kids at school. It’s alright. I occasionally sing at The Bunker.”

Benny smiled. “You are aware there is karaoke tonight at midnight?”

“Yeah, but there is also the Historic Period party. Karaoke track runs every day, I think. You gonna make it?”

“I sure will. Hell will freeze over before I miss the opportunity to see the crew in costume. Did I hear correctly that your lot has three connected rooms?”

Dean let slip a wicked grin, Benny’s lilting voice contagious and his tendency to switch accents depending on his company got the better of him. A drawl slipped into his voice. “We sure do. But first I got a speed date to get to. I’m running late.”

Benny chuckled and touched two fingers to his flat cap. “Good luck, Squirrel.”


	8. 1996

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nothing. I mean.. I just told my friends something important and got disconnected.”
> 
> “Friends or Squirrel?”
> 
> He lowered his eyes, frowning. For all his obnoxious faults, Luci always did listen when Castiel was running his mouth about the Undernet crew. He remembered names and events. “Both.”
> 
> Lucifer clicked his tongue in his mouth, lips puckered as he wagged two fingers. “Let me guess. That you’re gay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in end notes.

**Rome, 1996**

Lisa’s toes pressed into his thigh, as she looked over. They were sprawled on his bed, listening to music: her station, which did nothing for Dean, but so be it. She was so beautiful and a touch shy, toeing the line between cute and distracting. Well, shy… he’d caught glimpses of the infamous Southern temperament, but so far it had been aimed anywhere but at him. As one of the cheerleaders, they spent a lot of time together at training, loitering afterward and making out behind the gym.

His parents were visibly relieved he wasn’t cloistering himself in his bedroom all spare hours of the day anymore. They had no idea he was going on 4 to 5 hours of sleep a night, because of the amount of time he spent online.

She’d joined him at home today, her behavior somewhat different than usual. They hadn’t really agreed on this. In fact, he was massively distracted, because he needed to go online. Unlike Lisa, he and Feathers had agreed on meeting up.

But here she was. All chocolate-brown eyes, sweet smiles and warm company.

“I’ma go to the bathroom quickly.”

She crawled over him, her hair sliding over his cheek and neck, her scent invading his senses and he tugged at her hips instinctively. With a soft chuckle, she kissed him and squirmed out of reach.

“Sure.”

It took all of a full minute for Sam to appear at his bedroom door.

“Hey, Jerk.”

“Bitch,” he said, acknowledging Sam without looking up.

“Just heard her ask Mom if she could sleep over,” Sam grinned.

“What?”

“So she didn’t ask you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

Sam shot him a quizzical look. “Do you two talk a whole lot?”

“Not really. I mean, we talk obviously… regular stuff, school, cheerleading,” Dean shrugged. “Why?”

“Dunno… seems like something you’d talk about.”

“She’s slept over before.”

“True.”

He grinned, his cheeks warming at the memories. ‘Slept’ might have been the wrong word, though they hadn’t gone all the way. The penny dropped the next instant and his mouth went to a small ‘o’ at the realization.

“But she has been making doe-eyes at me all day.”

“Uh-uh,” Sam smirked. “I see a light went on upstairs.”

“It might have, but tough shit right?” he said. “Mom’s home.”

Which didn’t really matter much, to be honest, but Sam didn’t need to know that. Lisa returned, ducking past Sam with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes.

“I asked your Mom if I could sleep over.”

Dean shot her a wide smile. “Yeah, of course.”

Sam’s face rippled with sudden awkwardness and he started to scramble his way out. “Yeah, okay… I’ll, uhh… be off. Night, guys.”

“Night, Sammy,” Dean grinned.

His focus shifted to Lisa.

“I didn’t bring any stuff. Can I borrow a shirt of yours?”

“I tend to sleep naked anyway.”

“You never have before.” She smiled and shot him a quick wink.

“I was raised kinda right?” he offered, willing the words to sound dubious.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Kinda sounds about right, yes.”

*

The world had fallen away for awhile there. Dean felt sated and relaxed with Lisa’s warm form slotted to his flank. She let out a long, content sigh into his neck and he wasn’t above feeling rather proud of himself, as he felt her go limp. Within seconds, she was asleep.

He however decidedly wasn’t.

Listening to her breathing, he tried to slow his own in an attempt to follow her into sleep. His gaze was drawn to the blinking light of his screen, his hearing to the steady hum of the computer running and his thoughts, strangely, to Feathers. He couldn’t tell why, but he wanted to log on, quickly, just for a second. It was only polite, right? Not to let someone wait.

He pried himself away from Lisa and snuck over to his chair, nudging the mouse. His screen flickered to life and he mucked with the buttons to lower the glare. He was hours overdue, but Feathers was still there. He quickly made a channel and vanished in it, Feathers hot on his tail.

SQUIRREL: Heya, Feathers! Sorry I’m late

FEATHERS: Hello, Squirrel

FEATHERS: I figured you’d be asleep

SQUIRREL: I should be, but Lisa’s here

SQUIRREL: Just wanted to log on and let you know

FEATHERS: She’s there?

SQUIRREL: Yeah, she’s asleep in my bed

FEATHERS: I was gonna ask if she minded, but that would answer that

SQUIRREL: I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want you waiting around while me and my girlfriend, y’know

FEATHERS: I get the picture :p good for the both of you

SQUIRREL: Yah, actually, me too, if I do say so myself

FEATHERS: Hahaha, I can feel the smug through the damn screen

SQUIRREL: I can only smirk some more and shrug to be honest

FEATHERS: Well, thanks for taking a few minutes out of that precious sexy time to let me know, I appreciate it :p

SQUIRREL: Next time I’ll just let you wait

FEATHERS: I can keep myself occupied, though you’ve got me a bit distracted now

FEATHERS: And I do appreciate it!

SQUIRREL: Sorry to distract :)

FEATHERS: I’ll live. Go back to bed

SQUIRREL: But I can’t sleep

FEATHERS: Dude, seriously?

SQUIRREL: What?

FEATHERS: Your girlfriend is in your bed, you just had sex and you don’t want to go back to bed?

SQUIRREL: When you put it like that

FEATHERS: I mean you’re welcome to stick around

SQUIRREL: Oh, thanks the heavens for that, the angel wants me around

FEATHERS: Of course I do :)

SQUIRREL: What about you?

FEATHERS: About what?

SQUIRREL: With the girlfriend?

FEATHERS: Nosy Squirrel. Nah, we’re not there

He heard the sheets move, before she mumbled out his name. “Dean? What are you doing?”

“Uhh,” he muttered, as he typed. “Just logged on for a second. Couldn’t sleep.”

SQUIRREL: She woke up

FEATHERS: Better run back then ;)

“For real?”

“Yeah, I was supposed to meet my friend.”

His tone was perhaps snappier than he intended it.

“You left the bed for your online friend? What was his name… Feather?”

“Feathers, actually.”

“Oh, I’m _sorry_.”

There was an edge to her voice he hadn’t heard before. At least not from her. He’d heard it from his Mom. And Charlie. And Charlie’s Mom. So alarm bells rang, instant and loud, as he looked over to the bed.

She was propped up on one elbow, the sheets pulled to her. Even in the glare of the screen that barely made it to her face, he felt her mood shift from sleepy to scarily focused.

SQUIRREL: Yeah, from the sounds of it

FEATHERS: The temptation to insert a whip sound here......

SQUIRREL: Don’t you dare

FEATHERS: Only in my mind

FEATHERS: G’night, Squirrel, thanks for coming out for a bit

SQUIRREL: G’night, Feathers

*

He typed one-handed and logged into the channel list, smiling when he saw familiar names. By now he knew almost everyone’s real life name, though those came from private chats and they stuck to handles almost religiously. Entering their channel, he spotted Jareth (Benny) and Ghostwriter (Jo). PureEvil had become a staple, if a somewhat annoying one. Wereboy (Garth) was still around too. Feathers had not given his real name, nor had Dean provided his own. His dad had made it plenty clear that there were to be zero security breaches, because of his ‘online obsessions’ and ever since accidentally letting slip uncle Bobby’s name, Dean tried to keep a close lid on that. Mom’s two cents ensured his internet rights, as had Dean’s assurances that he wouldn’t start slacking in school.

Not fucking likely. He could probably walk his way through school, both fingers up his nose, on thin ice, and still make it.

Lisa hadn’t talked to him in a while, which he guessed was kinda down to his own stupidity. They had moved to Rome two years ago and it was only a matter of time before they moved again. He wasn’t one for long distance and, although people offered him their stories freely, he didn’t always know how to respond to someone’s distress. It was one thing to listen, another to give the right answer in the face of tears, which he learned the hard way.

And well, there was Nick Munroe, though Lisa had no idea about that. That’s what he got for getting drunk and playing Truth or Dare. Okay, so he hadn’t been that drunk, but it was a preferable excuse to the truth. Nick wasn’t complaining about their little encounter, but he was trying to spread the news about it, so Dean a) dealt with Nick, family style and b) switched classes to get away from him. People knew better than to give him shit about it, but that didn’t stop his own brain from trying. He categorically dismissed it.

He wasn’t gay and that was that, so why provoke a dog fight over it.

SQUIRREL: Hey Feathers, evening guys

FEATHERS: Hi Squirrel ^^ hugs

JARETH: Evenin’, handsome

GHOSTWRITER: Hi, fluffy! Also hugs

PUREEVIL: Heya, Squeaker

WEREBOY: Aint it nighttime where you are, big guy?

Dean smiled wide and some of his frustrations drained out of him.

SQUIRREL: Yep, but I don’t need sleep. Isn’t Italy known for its vampire population? Yeah, that’s it

FEATHERS: Only the dramatic ones, to be fair, so does that mean you’re into wigs and dramatic robes now?

GHOSTWRITER: He ain’t wrong, SQ!

SQUIRREL: One day we’ll be able to send pictures as proof of shenanigans. Today is not that day

FEATHERS: Awww such a tease

WEREBOY: So what is everyone up to, some of us in the middle of the night?

SQUIRREL: The usual, dying of heat, sitting around in my boxers and making sure the rest of the house doesn’t know I’m awake

FEATHERS: Reluctantly working on a chemistry project which is going to turn into a group project soon. Shudder

GHOSTWRITER: If that goes wrong... Kaboom

JARETH: Just because you blew out part of the bathroom, sugarplums

GHOSTWRITER: It was an accident!

FEATHERS: So you keep saying, but didn’t you get a new shower out of it?

GHOSTWRITER: I have no idea what you’re talking about :) *smiles innocently *

JARETH: Innocent, my ass

SQUIRREL: Agreed, no one here is innocent. I’ve been practicing the guitar, putting tunes to my writing

JARETH: When are you planning on sharing some of that?

WEREBOY: When he’s good and ready

PUREEVIL: Pretty sure Feathers already read some of it, heard it too

FEATHERS: Evil… don’t start

SQUIRREL: Awww, sorry, darlin’, didn’t know it was that easy to make you jealous

PUREEVIL: Bite me, Squeaker

SQUIRREL: Sure? I might have rabies. Oh wait, pretty sure you already have that

FEATHERS: Scratch the vampires. You’re wolf through and through, pissing contest if I ever saw one

That got a round of laughter from the group.

With a chuckle, Dean tapped his fingers on the desk, reaching for the guitar and resting it in his lap. He gave it a few strums, humming along and grimacing when it went off key. He was trying to write a song for Lisa, sort of to make amends. He’d stopped keeping everyone apprised of the status of their off-again-on-again relationship, because frankly he wasn’t sure himself. The ones for Feathers wrote themselves. The ease of their friendship seemed to make Eevee a touch peculiar and, on bad days, downright hostile. They rubbed each other the wrong way, though for the life of him he didn’t understand why. Aside from her stellar personality, that was.

*

**Texas, 1996**

Castiel slammed his books around for no reason other than to make noise. He hadn’t felt this annoyed in a while. He’d gotten into a fight with Meg, understandable enough considering the circumstances. His father was trying to curb his time on the computer and there was a girl in his Chemistry group who had trouble grasping the fucking one syllable word “ _NO_ ”. “Fuck off”, “Go away” and “I am not interested” were misfires as well. On top of that, she was prone to getting physical and he was in no mood to get in trouble for standing up to a girl.

PUREEVIL: Come onnnnn, Feathers, stop ignoring me. Don’t make me drive over

WEREBOY: What’s the hubbub?

GHOSTWRITER: Girls, boys, project, I wasn’t paying that much attention

Castiel grimaced. Meg was perfectly capable of driving over, if only to drive him up the wall.

WEREBOY: Sounds like everyone’s favorite soap opera

GHOSTWRITER: Yeah, or my parents’ bickering

FEATHERS: Just.. a group project, so it’s going to involve _people_

PUREEVIL: Yeah, you know people happen at school, sweetpea. We gotta work with her

FEATHERS: I’m aware

JARETH: Wha’s the problem?

PUREEVIL: There’s a girl in Chemistry who’s taken a shine to Feathers, but I saw her first

FEATHERS: Correction, my problem is not that you saw her first. My problem is she’s insane. She cornered me while I was walking, I mean, I was reading and she shoved a tongue down my throat! How is that okay?

PUREEVIL: I keep telling you, you gotta talk to the counselor

FEATHERS: You mean that douche who’s a total homophobe? Yeah, sure, that’s gonna go down well. Why doesn’t that just turn you off, Evil?

GHOSTWRITER: Weren’t you and Feathers a thing?

PUREEVIL: Broke up. I’m fine. And bi obviously, so don’t let that stop anyone

JARETH: Are you steering towards a threesome, Eevee?

WEREBOY: Are we gonna have to break up a fight?

PUREEVIL: Ahhhh, Christmas came early if both of those could happen

GHOSTWRITER: You’re a right handful, Eevee :)

PUREEVIL: The point is he doesn’t know what to do with her and I do

The ongoing conversation blurred before his eyes, but he smiled at Meg’s recent nickname. Further proof of how welcoming the Undernet crew was.

Castiel’s heart hammered in his chest, as he contemplated the words. He didn’t mind Meg spilling the beans about Naomi… She wasn’t wrong about any of it, which made him deeply uncomfortable on the regular at school. Yes, he didn’t know what to do with Naomi, but not because he was awkward around women. He wasn’t. He just didn’t like them that way. That and Naomi was … intolerable. He needed to talk to Meg about her taste in women. Unless she was doing it to help him, but that would still be a poor way to solve problems.

There was no way he was gonna get to say it out loud at home or at school without getting into a shitload of trouble, but he needed to say it somewhere…

Might as well get it over with in the group rather than keep it to himself, because he was sure he would burst if he had to hold onto it for much longer. Trepidation trickled over his heart like thick oil. Jareth had mentioned being bi a while back, Meg – fearless as she was – just tossed it around like cheap confetti too, and no one seemed to give a shit. Aside the endless banter and teasing. It just was. He needed that. To be.

It was hard not to notice how quiet Squirrel was. Again.

He typed and erased the words over and over, until he huffed in annoyance and slammed the enter key.

FEATHERS: No worries, as it turns out I don’t swing that way. She’s all yours, I just don’t want to work with her.

He expected a general silence, but Jareth didn’t even bat his eyes. Castiel smiled at the reply through sudden tears and kept reading, hoping for a positive response from everyone.

JARETH: Oh, finally figured it out, have you?

FEATHERS: Figured what out?

JARETH: Or maybe not

GHOSTWRITER: Ooooh! Feathers, yay! I mean, I hope yay?

FEATHERS: Well, my dad’s not exactly pro gay. Kinda why I’m telling you guys, I mean, someone should know I guess. It’d make his Christmas for sure…

GHOSTWRITER: Nothing beats a present like that, right?

PUREEVIL: Are you for real? We go to school together, see each other every day, _dated_ and this is how you tell me? After all that continued flirting after we broke up, no less. I’m insulted, Clarence

WEREBOY: Clarence?

PUREEVIL: My nickname for Feathers irl.

FEATHERS: And you did the flirting, Evil, I stopped quite a while ago :p still love you though

PUREEVIL: Yeah yeah :*

WEREBOY: Ack, one handle per person, please

JARETH: Agreed, hard enough with half of you giving out real names and half of you sticking to handles

WEREBOY: We love you for you, Feathers, just saying

JARETH: Yeah, what he said. Sucks your dad’s a dick about it

GHOSTWRITER: You’re safe with us. So many hugs

SQUIRREL: You’re batting for the other team, Feathers?

Castiel thought he forgot how to breathe. How was he supposed to read this? He noticed no one else was joining.

FEATHERS: Yeah, I think so… scratch that, I know so. Is that a problem?

His screen flickered for a second and when he tried typing something else, it froze. Castiel cursed the angels down from Heaven when the server crashed and he was unable to log back in. He angry-whispered a string of curses as he got up from the chair, the wheels clattering over the floor. It took all of five minutes to draw Lucifer out of his den, slothing down the stairs in his slacks, his hair sticking every which way. Anna had told him it was getting too long.

“Cassie, what the fuck, man?”

“What?” he snapped, messing with the cables.

“It’s nearly midnight. This is getting out of hand. Go back to bed.”

“Make me.”

Lucifer frowned and rubbed a hand over his face. “What’s got into you?”

Castiel stared at the screen and the endlessly moving dots, signaling the Internet was not coming back online, and he wanted to cry his eyes out. His brother walked closer and pushed the power button until the humming stopped.

“Let’s go, squirt.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I won’t if you tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing. I mean.. I just told my friends something important and got disconnected.”

“Friends or Squirrel?”

He lowered his eyes, frowning. For all his obnoxious faults, Luci always did listen when Castiel was running his mouth about the Undernet crew. He remembered names and events. “Both.”

Lucifer clicked his tongue in his mouth, lips puckered as he wagged two fingers. “Let me guess. That you’re gay?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Castiel groaned and hid his face in his hands. “I knew this couldn’t last.”

“What?” Lucifer asked, amusement palpable in his sleepy tone.

He leaned back to look at his brother, tilting the chair. “You, caring.”

“But I do care. I just have a funny way of showing it.”

Castiel squinted up in the darkness, trying to read his brother’s expression hooded in the night. “Are you gonna be a useful big brother or not?”

Lucifer sighed and sagged his shoulders in defeat. “It runs in the family.”

“What? Like the disease?”

That made his brother grimace. “That’s how dad would see it, yes.”

Castiel’s heart sank. “I know… Please don’t tell him.”

“I won’t. He doesn’t know about Gabe either.”

Castiel looked up at Lucifer. “Gabe too?”

“You can be a bit dense, little one, but I guess that’s cause your head’s in the clouds most of the time. Yes, Gabe too. He says he’s bi, but that wouldn’t make much of a difference either way.”

“So why aren’t you blackmailing the shit out of us?”

“What do you take me for?”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up. “An obnoxious older brother, who always uses us as a means to draw attention away from his own shenanigans.”

“Without ever giving away the truly sensitive intel. Dad has enough on his plate with Anna and… just… Life. And God, alas.” He waved an annoyed hand in the air, his shoulders sagging further.

Ugh. This was quickly turning into a night that dragged up everything he’d prefer not to _feel_. And tonight of all nights, his Internet was out and Squirrel was… probably going out with Lisa again. And maybe upset, though he shouldn’t be, with all the sexualities in the crew. So why did he care so much? Why was Squirrel’s opinion so important that he was nearly crying his eyes out? Castiel rubbed his eyes with his fists, forcing the tears back. Fuck this shit.

“Why do I feel like this is gonna come back to bite us in the ass?”

“That’s a touch too dramatic. Just… Find yourself a boyfriend to do that for you and be subtle about it.”

Castiel flustered and Lucifer let out a few soft chuckles. “Now, for real, little one, get to bed. It’s still a school night.”

“I know,” he sighed. Lucifer wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Castiel leaned in, as they walked to the stairs.

“Wank it off.”

“You’re terrible!” He groaned and shoved his brother off, running up the stairs to his room. Lucifer’s laugh followed him into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied Lisa/Dean offscreen. Age of consent in Italy is currently 14, so I safely upped it to 16. Dean's 17 here and so is Lisa. Just as an FYI, so no one trips over it.


	9. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The closer he got, the more details he picked out. The torn patches of his pants. The bed-hair. The cat hair sprinkled across his clothes. The notebook peeking out of the inside pocket of his jacket. The camera. Slow but steady, he made his way closer to Blue-Eyes, whose voice he started to pick up on and, fucking hell, if that wasn’t music to his ears. A rich, gravelly voice that called up images of too much whiskey on the rocks, late nights talking too long under open skies, and…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are *hums happily* art!

**London, 2014**

Castiel hovered near the desk to sign in, trying his hardest to look natural like everyone else around him. Well… _natural._ They were a bunch of geeks at a speed date event at a sci-fi convention. The off-beat levels were through the roof and it was with a deep sense of discomfort that Castiel noted his age was well above the average attendant’s. Of course… twenty somethings, most of them in cosplay, which - granted - made it a bit harder to be sure. Behavior rarely lied though and he could tell he was one of the oldest people here.

He was only 33-going-on-34, but perhaps there was something to be said for Tinder after all, where he could control the age bracket. When he scoffed loud enough for others to hear, he ducked his head and dismissed the ludicrous idea. This was simply out of his comfort zone. No need for extreme measures.

He spotted two guys who might be closer to his age. Maybe. If he squinted past the Indiana Jones make-up on the shorter one. There was also a unit of Batman and Joker, who upon closer inspection and their clear lack of personal space, might not need to be here, he mused with a smile. Youthful ignorance, he hoped, rather than denial. Maybe they were trying to lure each other out.

They stood around, scattered, some alone, others in pairs or threes, as more people trickled in and signed their name. One of the volunteers ran her finger down the list, giving a nod and turned to them, smiling.

“Hi, good afternoon, everyone! My name is Marian and this is Leonard. Welcome to speed dating at Loncon 3! Everyone healthily nervous about this?”

A few jumpy giggles and whispers with a “You betcha!” thrown in. Castiel’s heart lodged in his throat, because he really didn’t like that question. He understood where it came from, but half the time that exact question was what set him off, if he had anything to be nervous about. Of course people would be nervous… they were putting themselves out there, in potentially awkward or weird situations. He blanked on some of the introduction, distracted by the cosplays and his mind, but got the gist of it from the step-by-step list on the whiteboard behind the two volunteers.

Pick a chair.

The dancing chairs system.

Three minutes per person.

A list of ice-breakers on the board. All of them made him roll his eyes. Clearly this was geared towards the twenty somethings and he resigned himself to an hour of time wasted. He’d play nice, obviously, but this was going nowhere fast, unless Indiana Jones turned out extremely engaging. And then some.

The volunteers would play a Doctor Who’s Tardis sound whenever it was time to move.

“Alrighty, take your seats!”

Castiel let out a subtle sigh and went for one of the seats at the far end, in case he decided to bail. To his surprise, a youngin Tuxedo Mask plonked down across him without hesitation. Castiel pushed his back flush against the chair and folded one leg over the other, a faint smile on his face.

“Everyone seated?”

A few murmured and clearer confirmations, a few last dashes of hesitant people taking their seats. Castiel noticed Leonard took a chair as well. One man short.

“Alright, good luck, everyone!” Marian smiled, and a Tardis sound blasted out of her cell phone.

“Hi! My name’s Max,” Tuxedo Mask said, extending his hand. “I’m 20 and a huge anime buff. What about you?”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up, strangely enamored with the openness, and he shook Max’s hand. A kid, really… He tried to remember when he had been that age, but that was a different time. It was sufficient to make him lean forward, unknotting some of the stiffness in his shoulders. Perhaps he was wasting his time from a dating point of view, but nothing stopped him from engaging all these echoes of his own awkward geeky self in 3 minutes of kind conversation. Their minds tended to bounce in ways that appealed to his star-gazer mind.

“Hi, Max. My name is Cassie. I was a manga buff around the time you were born,” he smiled.

“Whoa, time trip,” Max grinned. Castiel caught the slight tremor in the kid’s hands. “So are you a photographer at the convention or something?”

He gestured at the polaroid and Castiel slipped into an older part of himself, as he gently exuded calm into the exchange. Three minutes can feel surprisingly long when you’re basically in a permanent existential crisis. It could also feel long, when working his way through the next three people, two of which were less forthcoming than Max. 

The conversations were a string of “What is your name?”, “What do you do?” (most of them were students, which made him feel ancient by the time a certain Alexander sat his ass down), “Which fandom are you in?”, “Who’s your favorite Doctor?” (a good question in his opinion, and the answer was 10), “Where are you from?” (which allowed him to carry the conversation a bit, because most of them were locals)…

When the Tardis announced the next switch, the door to the room opened. Castiel’s skin started to tingle under the pressure of his increased heart rate, when Sex On A Motor Cycle walked in. He’d ditched the leather jacket in favor of a black Henley and a plaid shirt with overtones of lavender. On any other man, he’d likely feel those pants didn’t do his ass justice, but they worked wonders for the bow legs. Deeply curious and unable to resist, Castiel’s gaze roamed, taking in the details: the mix of leather and beaded bracelets, the metal chain, the rolled up sleeves. There was something in the way he ducked his shoulders in apology at Marian, wiping a hand over his mouth, which made Castiel smile. He squinted in amused curiosity, while watching him bend over to sign his name. There was no chance in hell he couldn’t let his eyes linger…

Leonard bounced off his chair, signaling eagerly at the latecomer to take his seat. There was a tug like gravity as Castiel watched the guy move to the empty chair, shooting Leonard a smile. He rested a hand on the back of it, giving it a mild tug, as he cast a cursory glance over the group.

And spotted Castiel.

Like a turbine slowing to a halt, time suspended as he held Castiel’s eyes, his tongue teasing at his teeth. Unsure, Castiel tilted his head, allowing himself a half smile, even if his senses were going to Defcon 3. Because up close he saw the color of those eyes... Like a forest in full summer bloom. The way they lit up was not in mere polite recognition, but a genuinely pleased kind of look. The kind Castiel hadn’t gotten a lot in his life, not for simply _being_. He heard the deep chuckle in response, while the guy sat down and with a last intense look at Castiel turned his attention to the boy opposite him. Castiel thought he saw a shift in focus and realized he’d been ignoring Indiana Jones, who’d dropped into the opposite chair.

“Ahh,” he muttered, frowning at his own behavior, “Apologies.”

Indiana laughed and shot an understanding look down the line. “Oh, I get it.”

The sleaze dripping from his tone made Castiel’s hackles rise, which was kinda rich considering where his eyes had been not five seconds ago. And yet. Immediately Indy was a hard no and the sound of the Tardis saved him from engaging that particular side of human nature. Castiel once more made the conscious effort of giving everyone he got to meet his full attention. He knew he’d be exhausted at the end of all this, as it was more sensory input than he was used to on a daily basis.

Yes, on the edges of his senses, he was all too aware of _his_ presence somewhere down the line. It made his heart skip a few beats. The kindness in his baritone suggested he was as honestly engaged with his speed dates as Castiel tried to be.

_Get a grip, Novak. He might still be a total sleazebag like Indy. Or just a hopelessly bad match, like about 99.99% of the population._

Something told him the guy wasn’t, but he had learned to err on the side of caution. He was acutely aware of them moving closer and closer towards each other, until eventually, thankfully, gloriously, scarily, he sat down opposite Castiel, tugging the chair closer between his legs so there was less space between them. He wanted to study his face, catching sight of the freckles and the shape of his lips, but then his manners cut through the urge to stare and Castiel made eye-contact. _Oh_ …

“I’m Cas,” he breathed out, as he extended his hand.

Mirth in his gorgeous green eyes, he shook Castiel’s, hand pleasantly warm, his thumb running a quick circle over the back of his hand. There were freckles on his hands too, Castiel’s brain unhelpfully provided.

“Dean.”

Castiel wiggled his fingers within the grasp, pleasantly surprised. Dean rubbed his hand on his thigh, but Castiel held his gaze.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas.”

*

**London, 2014**

Dean huffed at his mistake – no, it _wasn’t_ nerves - and backed out of the Straight Room to jog to the right one across the hall. A quick barely there knock and he tumbled inside, finding it stuffed to the brim with men of all shapes and ages. When he cast a quick first look over the group, he became uneasy. Men might not have been the right word. Worry curled in his gut at the thought that some of these kids could be his students, but then he remembered there had been a minimum age in place. Which still made most of these participants fall well outside his age bracket, but at least not his comfort zone. He could deal with youngins easily enough.

A young man in a Con volunteer t-shirt practically bounced off one of the chairs, while a young lady walked up to him. “You’re our missing sheep,” she whispered. “I’m Marian. Quick, sign here and you can take Leonard’s spot. He filled in for you for a bit.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Ran into the Straight room across the hall,” he said, scrubbing down his cheeks with one hand.

“Bet you disappointed a few people then.”

He blinked at her nonplussed and quickly scribbled something resembling an autograph next to his name. Leonard gestured him closer, so Dean walked over and gave the group another once-over, trying to gauge what he was in for. He tugged the chair back in line with the others and then a familiar face caught his eye.

Well, heya, Brightest Summer Day Blue-Eyes.

He could tell that much, even at this distance, and also, mainly, because the guy was staring at him. Again. Like he was the only person in the room. Or his favorite dessert. Something fluttered in his chest and he flicked his tongue over his teeth, holding those piercing eyes across the distance.

Something akin to confusion shimmered over Blue-Eyes’ face and he tilted his head with a half-smile that crooked up one side of his mouth in the cutest way. Mentally, Dean went ‘aww’ and ‘what the actual hell’ in short succession. With a self-deprecating chuckle and some effort, he tore his eyes away to focus on the Joker opposite him. Pun potentially intended.

Joker turned out to be 23 and in engineering, which was a lucky hit, because Dean had the degree and could talk shop anytime, anywhere. These kids reminded him so much of his students, in that even though they had several years on his lot, they were so hapless, so full of energy and insecurities… In some it wafted off them and he pulled out every trick in the book to get them at ease. It helped when he mentioned he was a school counsellor, except with Batman who seemed to become even more uneasy at that bit of intel.

The closer he got to - let's be fair - the only guy of true interest, the more details he picked out. The torn patches of his faded jeans. The bed-hair. The charcoal shirt, buttoned down wrong, generously providing an eyeful of collarbone and short, dark chest hair. It also made Dean think the French tuck was entirely accidental. But fuck, the red leather jacket suited him well. The cat hair sprinkled across his clothes. The notebook peeking out of the inside pocket of his jacket. The camera. Slow but steady, he made his way closer to Blue-Eyes, whose voice he started to pick up on and, fucking hell, if that wasn’t music to his ears. A rich, gravelly voice that called up images of too much whiskey on the rocks, late nights talking too long under open skies, and…

The Tardis interrupted his train of thought and with curiosity well and truly piqued, he noted the next chair was across from Blue-Eyes. Whose palpable attention seemed to wrap around him, trying to unravel him.

So perhaps _he_ wasn’t staring anymore, but there was an intensity to his gaze that made Dean’s skin tingle. People with such kind, vulnerable eyes couldn’t be assholes, right?

He parked his ass, sliding the chair as close as he dared. He cleared his throat and he smiled, taking in the view. A necklace partially hidden under the shirt. Sleeves rolled up. a curious sparkle in his eyes. Before he could introduce himself, Blue-Eyes extended a hand to him, breathing out his name. Dean leaned in on instinct, wanting to capture a scent maybe, because scents were important.

“I’m Cas.”

He closed his hand around Cas’, the unsupervised part of him giving the signal to rub circles. The short-circuit worked for one circle, before he caught himself, promptly held on a touch too long and wiped his suddenly very warm hand on his thigh. “Dean.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Lizard brain was not his friend, he noticed, because it thought it was a good idea to maybe just stare in those eyes… for a bit longer?

“Heya, Cas,” he managed. _Oh, good, you found your words_. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, scolding himself, but Cas leaned closer and sure enough, he was drawn in.

“You come here often?”

“Conventions? Yeah, we try to do as many as possible. London’s a good city for geeks. We have another event next weekend.”

“Which one?”

“SCA, just outside London.”

“I’ve seen some of their events back home. Very cool.”

“Thanks. So is it your first con?”

“First Worldcon, yes. And Europe. I’m here on a trip with my brothers. We had no idea this was happening, so I convinced them to go, though I’m pretty sure they only did it because of… this.” Cas encircled the room with a finger. Dean found himself leaning closer, elbows on his knees.

“Oh, you got signed up forcefully as well?”

Dean watched the intricacies of his face work as Cas made a tsk sound and waved a semi-convinced hand, that corner of his mouth curling up again. “My Judas thumb clicked the confirmation link. Why, were you manhandled into it?”

 _Manhandled._ Who used that word on the regular? It lit up parts of his brain that were somewhat neglected. “Only partly. But I think I lost my bet.”

“Which one was that?”

“That this was a fruitless endeavor.”

Watching him fluster, Dean licked his lips, trying not to let his amusement show, but judging by the semi-convincing glare Cas shot him, he was failing. With a gentle clearing of his throat, eyes cast down for a second, as he plucked at some cat hair, Cas changed the subject. “I really want to go see the art exhibition later.”

“Yeah, I still need to go too. I wanted to go earlier, but was carrying food. A friend of ours has a stand.” There was an obvious opening here, but he didn’t take it. Not yet. “You sound annoyed and proud about forcing your brother here.”

“He was surprisingly cooperative. Well, both of them. Mainly he figured I need to get out, so I figured I get to choose where to.”

“And did you? Need to get out?”

Cas held his eyes, eyes crinkling, looked sideways and back at him at lightning speed. “Right now I’m thinking he might have been on to something, yes.”

Sitting up straighter, rolling his shoulders, Dean watched a beautiful pink spread up from Cas’ chest to his neck and couldn’t hold back a soft chuckle. Cas’ hand moved over his heart on instinct, playing with the leather cord. “Anyway, we’re moving further south Sunday morning.”

Dean swallowed the disappointment that surged at that kernel of information and wondered if he caught something similar in Cas’ tone. Perhaps too much wishful thinking. Already.

“So where is home?”

“The US, Texas.”

“We used to live in the US.”

“I thought you didn’t sound fully local.”

“I probably should, but we were still surrounded by Americans most of the time. And I adapt like crazy." He inhaled sharply and the words were out before he could stop himself. "I _really_ like your voice.”

 _Winchester, shut it_.

But that thought was quickly lost in the endorphin rush of the effect of his words. Whatever fluster Cas was trying to hide now bloomed to his cheeks and he laughed, taken by surprise, face open. They looked at each other in shared wonder for a few heartbeats.

“Ahem, thank you? I… I, umm, quite like the sound of your voice as well.” Cas smiled. “Like you’d be a good singer.”

Dean beamed. “I do sing. Sometimes.”

“So not a famous singer?”

“Ha, no, sorry to disappoint. Just a school counsellor. You?”

“I hate saying this out loud, but I’m an artist.” He made air quotes, exasperation obvious in his face, and damn if that wasn’t the cutest combination Dean had seen in anyone. “Being a school counselor is important.”

Dean laughed. “So is art, trust me. We need it. What do you do exactly? Which medium?”

“I draw and paint mainly. Run my own business and work closely with charities. Sometimes I take pictures,” he added, as he gestured at the polaroid. “Did you always want to become a school counsellor?”

“Nah, man, what kid does? It just kinda happened, because I could have used someone growing up. Well, no, I got my mechanical engineering degree first, because…” He waved a hand. “It was expected. But after that, I added on the counselling track. I used to want to be a singer-songwriter.”

Why he’d tacked that bit of intel on, he didn’t know. He hadn’t thought about his singing or writing aspirations in a long time. Perhaps Benny was to blame.

“You must be golden with your kids at school.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, come on, motorcycle, singing, clearly into cool stuff cause you’re here,” Cas said, ticking them off on his shapely fingers. “They must love you.”

Dean followed the movements of his hands with interest, then smirked, teasing his canine with his tongue. “I didn’t mention having a motor bike.”

“You didn’t… I, umm.”

A soft chuckle as Cas shook his head, glancing down, biting his lip and Dean was sure he saw a muted ‘fuck’ being formed by those shapely lips.

“I _think_ I may have spotted you on your bike?” His tone lilted up deliciously, as if he didn’t fully _know_ they saw each other. Playing coy.

Despite the teasing attitude, Dean thought he saw a flicker of concern. Quickly, he slid forward a bit on the chair, allowing his knee to touch Cas’. Blue eyes fell down to the point of contact and a soft smile lit them up.

Dean grinned, when he was allowed to put the tips of his fingers on Cas’ knee, leaning sideways to try and catch his gaze, and raised a challenging eyebrow. “You _think_? I’m 100% sure I remember that moment. You were in the plaza.” He left the majority of that recollection unspoken, hanging between them.

Cas’ face toed the line between confused and… dare he say it, charmed, as he looked from their touching parts to Dean's face. Something flicked to downright sassy in the curve of his eyebrow and the gleam in his eyes, when he smiled, seemingly catching on to Dean’s challenge, as he squared his shoulders. Oh, he was loving this.

The sound of the Tardis ripped through the moment and Dean palmed the back of his neck. “Aww, shucks, Blue-Eyes, they’re making me move.”

An audibly sharp inhale made him hopeful he wasn’t alone in his regret. He looked up at Cas through his lashes and was rewarded with him leaning further into his personal space. On instinct, Dean breathed in as subtly as he could, but they weren’t close enough.

“Only one way to remedy that.”

“We get out of here right now?”

Eyes widening, emotion rippled across Cas’ face and Dean knew he’d made a mistake in being so forthright. He wanted to say something, apologize, anything to undo what felt like an idiot move, when he watched Cas retreat. Cas beat him to it with a lowly muttered reply, mirroring his tilted head gesture.

“Write my name down at the end of the line.”

How someone could hold the line between cautious and such a burning intensity, Dean didn’t know. It sent his heart in overdrive at the thought that maybe he was willing to engage with Dean.

What he did know was that he forgot how to talk and made a less graceful exit to the next chair than he would have liked. The rest of the speed dates were a blur, all pretense gone. He was pretty sure Indy made a douchebag remark about it, but ignored him. No point wasting energy on the type.

Marian started a full swing of the Doctor Who theme to ring in the end and talked through it, lowering the volume.

“Alrighty, well done! Hope you enjoyed yourselves. Please fill in the paper underneath your chairs, by marking the names of the people you had a good feeling about. If and when you both choose each other, and only then, we will send you an email with their name and phone number. After that, it’s up to you, my geeky romantics.”

Dean found himself glancing back at Cas several times over, while they made their way out, and if it hadn’t been for catching Cas looking at him every time, he’d have gotten annoyed about it. Instead what felt like a goofy smile worked his features, when Cas smiled back, and something he hadn’t felt in a long time coiled warm in his chest.

 _Balls_.

Maybe he’d be lucky enough to run into Cas a few more times before he left. Or maybe he needed to give Lady Luck a hand.


	10. 1996

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SQUIRREL: Where have you been?!
> 
> FEATHERS: My connection dropped and my brother’s been a dick about the computer. And my sister returned from the hospital
> 
> SQUIRREL: Four days, Feathers! Four days!
> 
> WEREBOY: Yeah, he was going nuts

**Rome, 1996**

Dean moaned, failing at stifling the sound, the _name_ that made it past his lips, as his orgasm lifted him out of his body for a few blessed seconds. “ _Feathers_ …”

_Whoa, wait, what?_

His breath was low and shallow, his head suddenly throbbing with pain, which so close on the heel of his orgasm was brutal. From shallow to fast-paced in the next heartbeat, he was freaking out.

He lay still in his bed, the warmth of his sweat gluing him to the sheets, trying and failing not to contemplate.

Guilt followed. What kind of creep was he? Sure, Feathers came out as gay… but where the fuck did this come from? It took some of the ‘wrong’ out of it, at least one way. Also made it hella unnerving. No wait. Still wrong. So very wrong.

Because _Dean_ wasn’t. He had Cassie. So on top of a creep, he was also a dick. Shit. He let his arms fall wide, wrist and hand dangling off the bed.

How do you even wank to someone you’ve never seen? To a concept. And why did it all feel like such a black and white situation? Oh, right.

 _Shit_. He really wasn’t. Feathers was an exception. There’s always that one person in your life, right? Someone different than everyone else, but not that way. It’s only normal to confuse you for a bit. And nothing at all to chase down.

*

“What do you mean, Feathers is gay?”

“How many meanings can those words have, Sam?”

He tossed a pair of dirty underwear at his brother, who dodged it with a sound of disgust and glared, throwing a particularly hard ball of socks at Dean. It bounced off his shoulder. They were put on laundry duty by their father, when he found both sons still in their slacks in front of the television when he got home. Apparently receiving a new video game for the holidays did not equal permission to play said game non-stop every chance they got.

Sam lifted his hands, looking non-plussed. “Well, okay.” To drive the point home, he shrugged at Dean. “And?”

Fiddling with pants and underwear that were still mushed together, Dean’s mouth moved like a fish’s as he tried to come up with a suitable argument or answer and failed.

Sam grinned. “You jealous?”

“What! No! Never. Why should I be?” Dean sputtered, shaking his head. He wagged a finger in denial at the preposterous suggestion.

“Exactly. You have zero reasons to be, because now Meg is no longer distracting him from you. Granted, some _other_ dude might get his hands on him.”

Sam’s eyes were on him, studying his face without shame. Dean flitted between various emotions he had trouble naming, because he was barely able to feel them. Sam’s eyebrows rising with every passing second spoke volumes on their own. Mute and loud in an accusation at Dean’s address. His heart pounding in his ears, Dean shook his head and shied away from it.

“I don’t…,” he started, then lost his voice for a few seconds. “I don’t fucking need this.”

“Need what, Dean? So Feathers is gay. What’s the problem?”

“We’ve been flirting the whole friggin’ time!”

“You flirt with everything that’s a biped.”

“Duh. But what if… What if he’s… y’know.”

“What if he’s what?”

“You know!” He slammed the bunched up underwear down in the right heap.

Sam groaned, as he closed his eyes and hung his head, his hair flopping around his face. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those guys.”

“One of what?” Dean bristled.

“One of those dudes who when he finds out his best friend is gay thinks that said best friend has been in love with him the whole time. It’s not about you, you dick.”

“What! No.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance, cocking his head to the side as he gave it some thought. “Well, maybe for a brief second. But no. I dunno… I think I’m surprised he didn’t tell me sooner.”

“How?”

“He threw it in the group. Usually… I mean, we tend to talk a lot outside of the group. I just figured he’d have trusted me with it first.”

“Again, it’s not about you,” Sam chided, but gentler. “He was probably nervous as hell and wanted to avoid the chance of a one on one rejection. There’s safety in numbers for the likes of u…”

Dean snapped at the thought. “I’m not gonna fucking reject him! He’s my best friend.”

“If this,” Sam waved a stiff hand at him, his lips pursed, “is anything to go by, chances are you’d have behaved weird. And online makes that even weirder.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, we got disconnected before I could.”

“Don’t you have anything better to talk about? I mean, you are starting college soon…”

“Yeah, as if I wanna talk about that.”

“He knows, right?”

“Who… what?”

“Feathers. Did you tell him you… you know, are planning on making the _smart_ choice?”

Dean snorted softly. “It is the smart choice. I’ll keep my music as a side gig. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

Sam did that thing where he wobbled his head like one of those dolls, skepticism oozing off him. The corners of his mouth turned down in mock awe at the conviction Dean put into those last words. With a sigh, Dean bent over, letting the exchange sink in and he narrowed his eyes at Sam.

Sam quirked one eyebrow, sass oozing out of every pore. It took a few ticks of the clock for Dean’s penny to fully drop, the cut-off sentence to register and he felt his mouth turn into a slack ‘ _o'_.

“Oh.”

He tilted his head, trying to rework his reality, chewing his way around what the fuck he’d missed these past weeks… months?

“ _Oh_.”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam scoffed. “Oh.”

“Shit, I’ve been out of it, haven’t I?”

Sam smiled, a light touching his eyes and he gestured with both hands in reassurance. “It’s a fairly recent development, no worries.”

“Okay, cool. Cool, cool, cool. Everybody’s coming out. That’s good, right?”

There was a fondness in his brother’s smile he hadn’t seen in a while, quickly overtaken by an eye roll. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“So do Mom and Dad know?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “In fact, you’re the first one.”

“Dude, it sounded like you came out to everyone.”

“I did a lot of research. Didn’t expect you to be having a crisis over Feathers.”

Dean hummed in an ‘ _of course you did_ ’ tone. “Makes sense. And I’m not having a crisis.”

Sam hit full throttle on the bitch face. “Really? Then what would you call this?”

“I’m surprised. I’m allowed to be taken by surprise, right? Or is it not about me to the extent that I can’t have…” He gestured an impatient hand, at a loss at how to complete the sentence.

Ducking his head to look at Dean better, Sam stuttered slightly in disbelief as he finished it for him. “F… fe… feelings?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m okay with it. Like seriously, what kinda person would I be if I rejected you or him because of that.”

“Excellent. Make sure he knows that. Cause it’s a big deal to tell a circle of friends and not be pushed away. Or treated differently.”

Dean nodded, soaking up the information. He hadn’t thought of it. Leave it to his younger brother to point out some of the obvious, but this was good. He could do this for Feathers.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay, I will. What about you?”

“What about me?” Sam hoisted the heap of dirty t-shirts and shirts in the machine and fiddled with the buttons.

Dean huffed and leaned in next to Sam, pointing. “Adjust the temperature, man, you’re gonna shrink everything.”

“I’m on it, you domesticated little shit. This is what you get when you don’t leave the house.”

“I like the scent of clean clothes, alright? And I’d like my band shirts not to ride up my stomach.”

Sam smirked. “Getting a little self-conscious with all that candy you keep shoveling in?”

“Ha-ha, as if, Sammy. I’m waiting for my answer.”

“Okay… What about me?”

“Well, do you wanna tell Mom and Dad? What do you need?”

“Uhhh,” Sam stuttered. “I… Nothing? I think? I’m pretty sure Mom has an inkling. And Dad…”

Dean scoffed, when the silence stretched out uncomfortably, as the water started being pumped into the washer.

“Yeah, I guess we keep this on a need to know basis.”

“Please,” Sam nodded. “I don’t need anything right now, I don’t think.”

“If anyone gives you shit, you tell me, right?”

“Are you… worried, Dean?”

“Yeah, man. I mean, if we’re hiding this from our own Dad, what are the odds our dumb-ass peers aren’t going to be dicks? I tell you, my online crew has more manners than our whole school combined.”

“Literally no one else knows and I’m okay with that for now. Though I should probably tell Charlie. She’ll love it.”

“She will.”

Dean huffed a smile at how Charlie’s face would light up. Her own sexuality was out and proud, calling out anyone who thought they could harass her, even when her voice quivered. He and Sam had stood by her side on the regular.

“Fearless, that one. And really? No one? How did you find out then?”

“Yeah, alright,” Sam grinned. “Maybe a few others know. But they’re not gonna spill.”

“A few, even. Damn, Sammy.”

“Don’t start, Mister I Am Working My Way Through The Cheerleaders.”

“I am not!”

“Everyone says you are.”

“Yeah, well, shows what everyone knows,” Dean sneered. “Lisa. And Cassie. That’s it.”

They propped the sorted laundry into its respective heaps, lining it up in the order they’d wash everything in. Sam eyed him suspiciously.

Dean grimaced and rolled his eyes in surrender. “Yeah, okay, maybe I stole a make-out session or two here and there.”

“Here and there,” he echoed. “Like Nick?”

Dean tried to keep his face straight, but felt the blood drain so fast, he was sure it showed. His mouth went dry at the memories that came with it. When he spoke, his voice was a touch hoarse.

“Who’s Nick?” It gave out on the name. _Shit._

“Oh, wow, okay, I see we’re passing by The Nile in Egypt.”

Snapping his head to Sam as they exited the laundry room, Dean glared.

“I just figure if you’re offering your support, I’d offer mine,” Sam said, opening his palms in a beseeching gesture. “I know you know Nick. I mean, I know Nick. So unless you suddenly have amnesia… very specific amnesia, that was a… umm, _special_ kind of answer?”

Dean sighed and rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Nick was just… a drunken experiment.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded, humming agreement quickly. “That’s okay.”

“Uh-uh.”

“So…”

“What?”

He winced when he heard the whip-like snap in his voice. It took more to make Sam back off, but following so closely after his kindness, it felt wrong, even if Dean was unable to curb it.

“What was the conclusion on that experiment? Though I have to point out that drunken experiments usually don’t deliver reliable results.”

Dean shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Not that drunk. It was just an experiment,” he repeated. “Nothing more.”

Chewing his lip for a second, Sam’s head bobbed in short, successive nods. “Alright. Just felt I needed to check in.”

“Is it… going around?”

“I don’t think so? I just move in similar circles,” Sam said, shooting him a reassuring smile.

“Are you saying you and Nick…?”

“Aaah, stop right there!” Sam exclaimed, eyes wide. “Just similar circles and I’m learning it is a small world, all in all.”

“The gays?”

“Yes, Dean, the gays. LGBT might be a nicer way to cover it.”

He thumbed the letters off on his fingers, figuring out what each one stood for. There was a lot he didn’t fucking know! Or hadn’t given enough thought to. He made a note to use the Internet for what it was actually meant. Research.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Seems a bit off for it to be such a small world.”

“It is, because it has to do with us not being able to move about as freely and openly as _you straight people_.”

Giving Sam a weak smile at the jab, Dean turned those words over in his head for a bit. “Are you sure you don’t want to join online?”

“Nah, they’re your crew. I’ll find my way.”

Dean sighed, guilt and relief flooding him at the realization that he was glad he didn’t have to face what Sam and Feathers were facing. Still, he could stand by them while they did.

*

**Texas, 1996**

The first time he logged back on, which was several days later due to Life happening the way it sometimes did, Castiel was worried something might have changed. It hadn’t. Squirrel behaved the same way he always did.

In fact, it felt like he was putting in extra effort.

FEATHERS: Hi everyone

FEATHERS: Hello, Squirrel

SQUIRREL: Where have you been?!

FEATHERS: My connection dropped and my brother’s been a dick about the computer. And my sister returned from the hospital

SQUIRREL: Four days, Feathers! Four days!

WEREBOY: Yeah, he was going nuts

JARETH: Thought your zealot family found out and killed you

FEATHERS: That’s not funny

SQUIRREL: Who said I was joking?!

FEATHERS: Alright, already, relax. I’m back. It really was just my brother being a dick and my sister being home, so it’s been a bit hectic

SQUIRREL: How is she?

FEATHERS: The new medication is having a few side-effects, but it’s helping so alright enough

FEATHERS: Sorry I vanished like that

SQUIRREL: It’s okay, you’re back now

GHOSTWRITER: I am going to get diabetes from this

SQUIRREL: Where’s Eevee? We haven’t seen her in a while.

FEATHERS: I think she’s going to move on from this. Why? Do you miss her?

SQUIRREL: What can I say? She grew on me, but I think Ghostie’s a bit miffed

GHOSTWRITER: Oh, sure, string a girl along and just fuck off once you break up with the resident angel. You tell her that from me!

FEATHERS: I will :) I hope you’re not really heartbroken

GHOSTWRITER: I am being silly. She didn’t just turn on you too, did she?

FEATHERS: No no! We’re still friends at school

JARETH: How’s stuff with the other girl? The one giving you grief

FEATHERS: Evil actually successfully distracted her from me for a while. But she realized she was indeed a complete bitch

FEATHERS: How’s your girlfriend, Jareth?

JARETH: I am pickin’ her up for a date tonight ;) and… Well… she might be the one

SQUIRREL: Jareth! True love? Already?

JARETH: I think I’m in trouble with this gorgeous spitfire, yeah, but we both get each other in trouble so… no complaints

FEATHERS: :) bring back stories for us?

JARETH: Can do, Feathers

GHOSTWRITER: What about your Cassie, SQ?

SQUIRREL: Oh, I ain’t touching true love with a ten foot pole, but yeah… we’re alright

WEREBOY: Aww, come on, Squirrel, you need to do better than that

WEREBOY: For her and yourself. It’s a matter of existential necessity, a matter of the soul!

SQUIRREL: Holy shit, Were

WEREBOY: You’re our singer-songwriter. Don’t tell me you’re not a romantic at heart?

SQUIRREL: Uhhh, I guess so. But I also guess there’s a massive difference between what you can come up with, hope for, long for and what reality provides?

WEREBOY: Or you’re just blind as a bat

FEATHERS: I have to agree with Were

SQUIRREL: You would ;) if anyone’s a romantic here

SQUIRREL: Nah, man, we’re good enough. Maybe there’s someone out there I still have to run into

WEREBOY: Yeah maybe

JARETH: Sure, brother, I’m tapping out of this conversation before I say somethin’ stupid

Castiel frowned at the chat, wondering if Squirrel had been holding out on him. There was no point denying the surge of jealousy he felt. It was violent almost, making his insides tremble. He sighed and swallowed, as he pressed his hand into his chest, trying to assuage the intensely uncomfortable feeling.

FEATHERS: Have fun, Jar

SQUIRREL: Yeah, get in the best kind of trouble!

GHOSTWRITER: But be safe and shit, cause she’s the one stuck with it if you don’t

WEREBOY: What the fuck, Ghostie?

GHOSTWRITER: Someone has to keep this shit real

WEREBOY: Thankfully, I think he missed that

FEATHERS: We are so real

SQUIRREL: Agreed, we are more real than most people I see on the street

WEREBOY: And we are more responsible than you give us credit for

SQUIRREL: Nobody wants surprise babies o.O

FEATHERS: Ha! Not my problem anymore

GHOSTWRITER: True :) upside, you can fuck around as much as you like

FEATHERS: Umm, not quite what I meant

Castiel’s face burned. Somehow ever since telling the crew, his talk with Lucifer and being stuck in his own head for a few days without Squirrel and time just flying by, he’d realized something. He was relieved he’d told the crew. He was even relieved Lucifer caught him at that moment. By now, Gabe was in the know too and it brought them closer together, by the thread of the shared experience alone. The crew was the same. So was Squirrel.

He didn't get struck down by lightning. His life didn't get upended. He was safe.

WEREBOY: Well, sorta. Still need to be safe for other reasons

SQUIRREL: Didn’t we all get sex-ed and/or an uncomfortable talk with our parents years ago?

FEATHERS: Uhhh… this is actually more straightforward than The Talk with my dad/God was

SQUIRREL: Christ almighty, am I glad Cassie and I are on the same page

FEATHERS: No, no, no, don’t involve him too

SQUIRREL: :) I know, I know, but what the hell. Ghostie, you’re a miracle worker for derailing conversations

GHOSTWRITER: You’re welcome. It’s a pleasure watching you all scramble

Castiel couldn’t help but snicker, but he felt suddenly, deeply tired.

Yeah, sure thing. Everything was running its smooth course.

Barring Castiel’s massive crush on Squirrel, which had caught up with him at lightning speed. The feelings he’d experienced suddenly shifted and clicked into place, irrefutably and non-negotiable.

Which was a fucking problem.


	11. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So in light of distractions and new experiences, I have a suggestion. Or request.”
> 
> “I’m listening,” Cas said, as he folded his sketchbook against his chest. Dean was distracted by the way the tendons in his arms moved under his skin.
> 
> “There’s a period party tonight and we have a room party after. Personal invite only for that one.”
> 
> Chewing his lower lip, Dean fell silent, letting it hang in the air, until Cas’ eyebrows kept going higher, wrinkling his forehead in the process. “I don’t hear a question in there, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, Luci and Gabe. I loved writing them in this one. Poor Sam?
> 
> And the boys are... well... you'll see.

**London, 2014**

Castiel bolted out of the speed date room, his phone to his ear to locate his brothers. For which there was entirely no need, as they both stood waiting on the far side of the hallway. There was no attempt to hide his current state of being. If it wasn’t his eyes giving away his scattered-even-more-than-usual brain, it would be his skin tone, because he felt the heat radiating off himself. That had gone against everything he’d expected and he was having trouble catching up. His quickly derailing train of thought went from candy-apple-green eyes to freckles to such blatant intrigue to hedgehog hair to touching knees and fingers on him to counselor to that voice to that peculiar gravitational force he read about in fanfiction and romance novels. Something he yearned for with every part of his scattered soul.

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose in delicate question and a flicker of concern washed over his face. “Cassie? You okay?”

Castiel ran his hands through his hair, the smile refusing to leave his face. “Huh. Yes. I am, actually.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at him and had the balls to reach out to put a hand to his cheek as if he was an ill kid. “You look a bit… excited?”

Lucifer chuckled. “Yeah, and there’s your reason,” he said, pointing behind Castiel.

“Don’t fucking point at him like a toddler,” Castiel hissed, lowering Lucifer’s hand.

Lucifer laughed, loud and boisterous, wanting to draw attention to them. Wincing slightly, Castiel looked over his shoulder to find Dean standing next to a tall guy with long hair. And pompoms. What even? He giggled when his friend waved them in Dean’s face and they got into a playful scuffle. The next second, a shiver ran down his spine as they both looked their way, and he and Dean were once more caught in each other’s gaze for several heartbeats.

“Yeah, sure, pretend no one’s here,” Lucifer said, flicking a finger from Castiel to Dean. “I take it you got his number?”

“Oofff,” he heard Gabriel say. “That can’t be his boyfriend, right? No, wait, he was on a speeddate. _Unless_ of course they’re in an open relationship kind of thing, which I am down for, if it’s the case.”

“We are not…” He huffed, deciding not to engage the preposterous idea. “We didn’t exchange numbers. It’s up to the volunteers to go over the paper we filled in. If we picked each other, then, yes, I will get his number.”

“So when does that happen?”

“I have no idea,” Castiel said, annoyed. “They are volunteers. I imagine they have other stuff to do during the con so... maybe next week?”

It sounded futile, when he said it like that.

“Well, is he local or will he cross the ocean back to the good ol’ US with us?”

Castiel shook his head, as reality caught up with him at a rapid pace with all the subtlety of the cold water challenge.

“He’s local. Well, used to live in the US, but they moved here? Don’t know the details. Anyway, he’s likely too good to be true.”

“So he wasn’t a dick either?” Lucifer asked. “What are the odds?”

Castiel watched Dean and his Surely-Brother walk away. His heart fluttered, when Dean sought him out again, visibly reluctant to leave, hands shoved in his pockets. Then his face shifted, eyes warm as he shot Castiel a brash smirk and wink, which pinballed his heart around in his chest. Castiel knew he wouldn’t be able to just let this go.

“Goddamnit,” he huffed. “This is your fault, Gabe. What use is this if we’re leaving so soon?”

“You clicked the link, Cassie. And why does it need to be useful?”

“It’s life,” Lucifer added with a shrug. “So soak it up. No one’s telling you to marry the guy.”

Castiel worried his lip. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel this way. Those butterflies. The anticipation. The potential. Scratch that, he had and it was wildly terrifying. Luci at least had a valid argument that he was under no obligation to do anything life-altering about it. Except for the fact that Dean had seemed genuine… and his presence enthralling enough that Castiel wanted to tumble into those green eyes, find out what lay beyond… to see if he was real, if the soul shining through them was as bright as it felt. 

So yes, _yes_ , damnit, he wanted to soak this up, but he also didn’t want to hurt Dean. Which was a stupid sentiment, because he barely knew the guy, not to mention hubris to the ninth degree to assume he could in the first place, but… he knew it was damned easy to hurt people and something about Dean demanded from Castiel in ways he couldn’t pinpoint. So he wished to go with his gut. His brain was firing at an alarming rate, every which way and he, in turn, remained stagnant as a result.

“I’m headed for the art exhibition,” he announced abruptly. “Anyone else interested?”

Gabriel nodded, but Lucifer crinkled his nose. “Go ahead. I’ll catch you guys later.”

*

**London, 2014**

“Cas? What’s that short for?”

“I have no idea,” Dean shrugged. “Just gonna have to wait and see.”

“Uh- _huh_ ,” Sam smirked. “The way you two were making eyes at each other, I’m pretty sure you’ll get his number. Come to think of it, why didn’t you just ask?”

“Something near the end… He sounded like he wanted to play by the rules? I dunno, I may have come on too strong and freaked him out.”

Sam smiled as he shook his head. “Fifth gear in 0.5 seconds again?”

“Not like that, not really,” Dean smiled, not even annoyed at his brother for implying it. “Not like those… I just wanted to talk longer. He’s an artist, does charity work somehow. From Texas, by the way, which should make this a hard no, but here we are. And I dunno… I’m curious. He has a way about him… Three minutes is stupid short.” He heard the petulance in his own voice and tucked his shoulders, frowning.

“Let’s go in here.” Sam tugged at his arm.

Dean followed, not paying attention, until the scent of paint hit him. The art exhibition. Awesome, he’d meant to go in.

“I love the smell here.”

Sam shrugged. “Give me a library any day. But this will do.”

“Dude, you work at a bookshop.”

They wandered, engaging in conversation with the artists scattered throughout. Charlie wasn’t at her stand. Many of them were actively working on pieces at the con and Dean bought one for his collection. Initially said collection had been all about wings, but over the years, it had grown into something more eclectic, covering all sorts of styles and themes. For years, Sam insisted a red thread of Feathers ran through it all, but eventually that had subsided. It needed to. Admiring it, praising the artist, he slipped it back in the plastic and held it loosely between his fingers as they continued.

He and Sam fell into familiar step, meandering away from each other as they were drawn to their interests. Now and then he poked his head up to locate his gigantor brother, before making his way to the actual exposition. Large mobile walls stood in crisscross patterns, creating nooks and crannies not unlike a labyrinth. Dean walked inside, eyes travelling across the artwork that was suspended by near-to invisible fishing lines. The range of these works was huge, some of it right up his alley, some of it less so. He leaned closer, studying the brush work, noticing some were original oil paintings. Others had the clean crispness of digital art about them, often giving it an otherworldly feel.

He turned another corner, drawn to a huge, lush painting of a forest with, at first glance, normal animals. At second glance, they all had a supernatural aspect to them. His senses reaching out in wonder, he slowly walked closer, his eyes traveling from the top to the bottom finding fairy wings, demon horns, reptilian tails, mermaid tails… and then they came to rest on the back of a familiar messy head of black hair, bent as Cas was scribbling in his booklet.

Instantly, his heart was in his throat and his lizard brain ran in eager circles.

With anyone else, anyone he was less worried about chasing away, he’d have snuck up and lowered his voice to get a rise out of them. For Cas, he found himself walking around to the side so he could catch him in profile. Dean held still and observed as Cas looked from the sketch book to the painting and back, lips slightly parted whenever he looked up, moving without a sound, as if he was whispering to himself. The way his forehead relaxed every time his gaze travelled up to another detail. How he tilted his head, as he squinted. The dark scruff he wanted to feel on his skin. 

_Pardon?_

Dean’s mouth curved into a stupid smile without direction and he rolled his shoulders a few times, as he walked closer. When he got within reasonable earshot, he cleared his throat loud enough to be overheard. Immediately, Cas looked up from his book and pleasant surprise lit up his face as he unfolded from his curled position around his notebook, coming almost eye to eye with Dean. A few inches, if that.

“Thanks for the head’s up.”

He nodded, wanting to put his hands in his pockets, but couldn’t because of his purchase. “Usually artists hate it when you sneak up on them and slam their sketchbook shut.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.” Cas shot him a grateful look. “I might have if I had been drawing… I’m just taking notes. And maybe a few quick doodles.”

He noticed the mass of detailed, intricately drawn bees covering the notebook cover. Dean cocked his head towards it, as he came to a halt next to Cas. “Notes?”

“Yes. Names, subjects, and impressions… the effect it has on me. I often forget, especially when they come to me at night. But not night now. Still… Hopefully it’ll jog me out of my art block on the cruise.”

“Cruise?”

_You sound like a fucking parrot, Winchester. Get with the program._

“On the Mediterranean. The ship sails on Sunday, if all goes well.” Cas smiled, as if charmed by something. “It is lovely… in the span of two weeks, I will have been above the clouds and on the ocean for a prolonged amount of time.”

“Sounds awesome.” And it did, so he smiled, even if it turned this into something fleeting he refused to either ignore or acknowledge fully.

“What’s with the bees?”

“Simple. I am fond of bees,” Cas smiled.

“You drew them?”

“Yes, because half the time the covers on books like these are hideous. So I either draw over them or print a cover.”

Dean leaned closer. “They’re amazing.”

Cas seemed to glow under his attention. “Thanks.”

“So what drove you and your brothers to fly across the pond?”

A sudden hurt flickered in Cas’ eyes and Dean cursed mentally.

“Our dad died a few weeks ago.”

The wave of empathy Dean felt must have shown in his face, because when Cas looked at him, his expression shifted into something resigned and _expectant_? Dean caught it with practiced ease. People talked too much. Or talked wrong. Especially in the face of death. Silence, Dean had learned, often provoked people into filling it, or to slip into something comfortable, if he held it right. On top of that, it prevented platitudes from joining the conversation. As a kid, it hadn’t been conscious and he never quite knew how he did it, but over the years it became second nature. Probably picked it up from Sam. Either that or he had to start believing everyone who told him he ‘humaned’ too well.

Cas frowned and gave a mild shake of his head. “We… It took a year. He fought hard and for a while it looked like he would make it, but… then he didn’t.”

He pressed his lips together tightly on the last words, shrugged and looked at Dean.

“That must have been a rough period… to lose someone who’s always been in the world. You and your brothers needed to do something to break that period of inertia.”

For a second, he thought Cas might poke or pinch him. “Yeah… I, yeah, that was it. Exactly it. Huh… We.. We’d been stuck in the role of caretaker for a while and none of us were doing brilliant. I mean… routine, right? Even if my head… It is exceedingly strange to suddenly live in a world where he doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You were close?”

Dean figured he could watch his face for hours and read his emotions, or try to. He couldn’t be entirely sure, not if he was being honest, but the shadow that fell over Cas’ eyes told him to back off.

“Sorry, man, it’s a force of habit in the face of difficulties.” He smiled. “Ignore the question if you’d rather be present here and now. That’s why you’re here, I imagine.”

“This is so weird,” Cas muttered. “Like you’re close to reading my mind. But I know you can’t.”

“Are you sure?” Dean winked, wanting to smooth the tension out of the moment and Cas.

Cas licked his bottom lip, lifting a doubtful eyebrow at him. “Quite. I’d know if you did.”

The lub-dub of his heart went louder and he laughed through a feeling of surprise, suddenly very much wondering what he’d read if he could. With effort, he steered clear of prodding.

“So in light of distractions and new experiences, I have a suggestion. Or request.”

“I’m listening,” Cas said, as he folded his sketchbook against his chest. Dean was distracted by the way the tendons in his arms moved under his skin.

“There’s a period party tonight and we have a room party after. Personal invite only for that one.”

Chewing his lower lip, Dean fell silent, letting it hang in the air, until Cas’ eyebrows kept going higher, wrinkling his forehead in the process. “I don’t hear a question in there, Dean.”

“You’re gonna make me ask. Fine.” Fuck this. He shot a huffy smile at the heavens and made mock-exasperated eye contact, as he put his hands in his hips, a touch incredulous. He flourished a hand as he inclined his head towards him. “Cas, would you like to join me at the period party and the room party tonight?”

With a completely straight face, he gave a curt nod. “Yes.”

“You will? Whoa, that went smoother than I thought.”

Cas crooked one corner of his mouth up, eyes twinkling. “Hmm, yes, you are very smooth.”

With a grin, Dean leaned a bit closer, following his intuition. “Your brothers are welcome too, if that puts you more at ease.”

He was rewarded with a bemused fluttering of dark lashes. “Are you always this considerate?”

“My brother would call it stubborn.”

Cas looked like he wanted to ask something, but then tilted his head in a come-with-me gesture, angling his shoulders as he stepped backwards and Dean learned that gravity could come from a person as he stumbled forward. “Shall we continue?”

“Sure. Gladly.”

 _Anything_ , he thought. _Riiiight, back it up, Winchester._

He fell into step next to Cas and they sauntered their way through the exposition, both notably slower and less focused than they had been before they ran into each other. Dean watched Cas take notes. More than once, he reached out to rest his hand close to an artwork without touching it. Dean mirrored him and there were those glances, flicking from the art to each other and their hands. Quick and always just missing each other, but not quite. The air seemed to warm up every time they almost touched, dancing around each other quite literally throughout the exposition.

They blurted out reactions, not expecting to engage, but finding each other responsive. Cas had a great eye for detail and a knowledge of mythology and symbolism that blew a breeze through dusty parts of Dean’s brain. He also had a peculiar sense of humor, off-kilter and bewildering, which initially took him off guard, but when he responded in kind and heard Cas’ actual laugh… he wished he was more of a comedian. He dove into the connection heart-first. 

Dean rested his hand underneath a piece they didn’t agree on. They stood close, Dean behind Cas. His words fell in the tempting space at the nape of Cas’ neck. Cas turned his head, glancing over his shoulder at Dean, and put his hand to the wall. He wasn’t sure what words he was spouting as arguments, because he was too focused on inching his hand closer. Find his warmth.

Until their fingers touched and Cas seemed to lose his train of thought as much as Dean did. They stood still for a while. Dean watched his face, the cerulan blue of his eyes, the straight line of his nose, the dark scruff fanning out to his neck. He could see his pulse beating steadily. Breathing the same air. Dean's legs were _not_ shaking. Was Cas leaning into him? He pressed his fingers between Cas’ and wondered, the curiosity becoming a flavor on his tongue, his brain chasing down the possibilities wrought in this moment.

Until someone breezed through, voice loud, and shattered it.

Cas cleared his throat and they broke apart. Dean’s head was spinning with how effortlessly Cas pulled at his core. He hadn’t spent this much time in an exposition nor in such conversation in a long time. Nor felt anything this intensely. When they came to the end, he found he wanted to turn back and see what else they could uncover together. Where else that rudely interrupted moment could have led.

Except he saw Sam.

And Cas’ brother.

Correction. _Both_ of Cas’ brothers. The short one with honey-colored hair at perfect ease, legs wide, full of swagger and hand gestures. The tall one, all spikey hair and cockiness, arms loose by his side, a suggestive smile on his face.

“Cas?”

*

**London, 2014**

“Hmm?”

Castiel turned his face towards Dean’s voice, but his eyes lingered on the last piece of art he’d been studying. For the sake of his brain mainly, which was trying to catch up to dealing with Dean. Dean, who pushed, but then retraced his steps and seemed to be reading Castiel with alarming ease. The green of his eyes mesmerizing and drawing him in every time he got caught in them. Which was often. Dean. Whose laughter meant he put his whole body into it and distracted Cas to no end, trying to remember what he’d said.

To boot, he kept up with the twists and turns of his mind in the face of inspiration, unlike anyone in recent memory. And his physical presence was something Castiel had not expected. Not his purely aesthetic features, though he would be hard-pressed to deny or ignore them, but his presence, like a milky way maelstrom, a point of gravity at the center of an explosion of dark blues, reds, purples and an endless supply of stars.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Dean leaned closer, enough so he could try to catch some of his scent and was about to do just that when the question registered.

“Are your brothers ganging up on mine?”

Brothers. Ganging up. On Dean’s brother? Bad! Bad combo. He snapped his eyes away from the art. “Whoa, what, excuse me, what?”

“That, right there,” Dean said, pointing.

Castiel followed the direction of Dean’s finger… He spotted Gabe and Luci on either side of the tall man who had been waiting for Dean outside the speed date room. _Brother_. A high-pitched laugh escaped at seeing his brothers and what they were exuding. To him, Gabe was an open book, but then he usually was when it came to these kind of ventures and Castiel’s first thought was “ _Well, that’s happening…_ ”. Lucifer however was a mighty big surprise. For all of the times he ran his mouth, over the years, Cas had learned it was by and large a front… though he’d never pressed the matter.

“Oh, shit… They might be?”

Dean cocked a curious head. “What, the whole family is gay?”

“Gabe is bi, for what it’s worth. But we always thought Luci was asexual. Or I did. Kinda. Truckloads of charm, which he’s putting on display right now, holy hell… We were never much of a hugging family. Or talking… And he rarely brought anyone home, seemed happy enough when he did. We never questioned it, because… Well, we just never questioned it.”

He was running his mouth. Lucifer would have his hide for talking so openly about him, but Castiel blamed the deceptively pleasant cocoon of the past… hour… hours with Dean. There was a tightness to his voice at the subject, which he hoped Dean wouldn’t catch, as he cleared his throat.

Dean surprised him with his reply. “He can be asexual and still look at my brother like that. The one doesn’t exclude the other.”

Castiel hummed in agreement. “That is true. I’m mainly concerned with my brothers ending up in the same bed now.”

“Yeah, right there with you.”

“In bed?”

Dean shot Castiel something he decided he’d call A Look™, because it sent pins and needles tingling across his skin. How could he pass up that glorious a response skittering across that gorgeous face? The tilt to his shoulders as he angled towards Castiel… He swore he could feel the air between them get a tick warmer. The thought of wanting to paint Dean knocked him for six and he was lost in his mind for a while, pursuing it.

Eventually, Dean cleared his throat and side-eyed the tableau of three brothers, wiping a hand over his mouth, as he frowned. Did he miss something again? Likely. Dean didn’t seem phased by it, as he made a mock-insulted face at him.

“Excuse me, by the way, but are you implying my brother would bed both your brothers?”

“I’ve heard worse from Gabe, so it says more about him than your brother, I swear.”

“You’re not making a good case for him either.”

“Trust me, no one can make a good case for Gabe, except Gabe.”

“Which one is he?”

“Shortbread. The other’s Lucifer.”

Dean frowned for a moment, as if distracted. “Wanna place a bet?”

Eyebrows shooting up, Castiel gave him a curious look. “On your brother’s decency?”

“That as such is out the window anyway,” Dean chuckled.

“Then it depends which bet, I guess.”

“I say the short brother wins.”

“I dunno. Luci can be convincing, though not sure which form it would take...”

He caught Dean’s smirk at the nickname. Shit… “Sam has a thing for creatures shorter than him.”

“That covers about 99% of the human population, by the looks of it.”

“True, but your brother is exceptionally short. It’s probably a primal thing.”

“Oh, Gabe’s just gonna love you.” Castiel smirked. “You’re on, but what if they don’t hit the sack before we leave?”

“Dude, a kiss will fucking do.”

“Oh, _now_ you get squeamish, mister let’s-place-a-bet-on-whether-my-brother-hits-it-off-with-yours? What if they don’t kiss?”

“I don’t always think shit through, okay? Maybe they’ll exchange numbers, unlike us.”

He pushed his shoulder into Dean’s, who, flashing him a cheeky smile, went along with it, smooth like water. There was a grace to his body Castiel thought he might envy if he didn’t enjoy observing it so much. “Fine, you’re on,” he said, lifting an open hand.

Grinning like the Cheshire cat, Dean responded by wrapping his own hand around Castiel’s and pressing their clasped hands between their heartbeats. Castiel was suddenly so very aware of how close they were. Dean held onto his hand, when Castiel made to let go, tilting him closer, and Castiel swayed on his feet, wanting to go with it. His breath caught in his throat and the next second, they let go, but hovered close.

Dean visibly swallowed, catching Castiel’s eyes. “So, umm, do we… join them?”

“Probably for the best, your brother looks a bit… cornered,” Castiel said, taking a step back, voice rough. “We can extend the invitation.”

When his brain decided on that ‘we’ he couldn’t say, but it had a tendency to make such calls without his explicit consent. Confusion sank into his bones as he followed after Dean, eyes fixed on the muscles in his back.


	12. 1997

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SQUIRREL: Do you want me to stop?
> 
> FEATHERS: No! Jeezes! Shit, you’re doing what I was scared off. Please stop
> 
> SQUIRREL: If it confuses you, I’ll stop
> 
> FEATHERS: I don’t want to stop!
> 
> SQUIRREL: Okay, calm down
> 
> FEATHERS: Don’t tell me to fucking calm down. All of a sudden you’re talking about stopping this, us, the stuff that brightens my day without fail. I’m allowed!

**Texas, 1997**

His heart lodged in his throat when Squirrel vanished into their channel and he made haste to follow.

SQUIRREL: Heya, Feathers

FEATHERS: Hello, Squirrel…

SQUIRREL: Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you.. How come you never told me you were gay? Before you told the group, I mean

FEATHERS: It’s been a few months… Now you ask me?

SQUIRREL: I dunno. It wasn’t really important, but then sometimes it is. I guess we kept having better things to talk about and it’s not like it’s a big deal, I’m just curious

FEATHERS: Isn’t it obvious?

SQUIRREL: Would I ask otherwise?

FEATHERS: I was scared

SQUIRREL: You mean you thought I was going to be a dick about it

FEATHERS: People have hated people for less, so yeah

SQUIRREL: Why would I hate you, man? Benny’s bi, Meg came out around that time too, and we’re all a bunch of lonely idiots who try to feel less of that with each other

FEATHERS: I don’t know. I guess because we know anyone can turn on us?

SQUIRREL: You’re my Feathers, dude, I’ll never turn on you

SQUIRREL: I might not swing your way, but I know it can be tough. I’d rather not add to the drama…

Pressure tightened in his chest. Was it possible for someone to be kind and cruel at the same time? The surge of deep need he felt at being called ‘his Feathers’ did things to his heart, it had no business doing. He wasn’t even sure about his own feelings, because his head was all over the place and Squirrel was giving off all kinds of mixed signals… Castiel didn’t know what to do and followed the only thread he could.

FEATHERS: But you like spending time together, right?

SQUIRREL: Well, duh. Your point?

FEATHERS: It’s just... We get along so well, I sometimes wonder if maybe…

SQUIRREL: If maybe what?

SQUIRREL: Hold on

SQUIRREL: You think I fancy you?

He could almost hear the incredulity and grimaced, the sting of it lodging in his heart.

FEATHERS: Is it such a gigantic leap?

SQUIRREL: Considering I don’t see myself doing certain things with dudes and my dad would kill me, kinda

FEATHERS: Mine would crucify me, so I don’t see how that counts

SQUIRREL: Self-preservation!

FEATHERS: I guess I can’t fault you for that one...

FEATHERS: What about the songs and the way we… I dunno, share stuff, spend so much time together

SQUIRREL: What about the songs?

FEATHERS: Do you write songs like that for a lot of people?

SQUIRREL: Do you want me to stop?

FEATHERS: No! Jeezes! Shit, you’re doing what I was scared off. Please stop

SQUIRREL: If it confuses you, I’ll stop

FEATHERS: I don’t want to stop!

SQUIRREL: Okay, calm down

FEATHERS: Don’t tell me to fucking calm down. All of a sudden you’re talking about stopping this, us, the stuff that brightens my day without fail. I’m allowed!

FEATHERS: It sometimes felt like maybe it was more, that you liked me in a different way

SQUIRREL: I do like you, Feathers, a lot. I know I don’t say it often, but I’ll say it now, so I can also tell you that… that’s it

SQUIRREL: And shit, I feel like such a dick when I read what I just typed

SQUIRREL: It sounds harsher than I mean it

SQUIRREL: I forgot how to language

FEATHERS: But you said we get along unlike anyone else you know

SQUIRREL: And we do. We really do

FEATHERS: I’m sorry, Squirrel, I guess I like you too much

SQUIRREL: Please don’t apologize for that, Feathers…

SQUIRREL: You can’t like someone too much

FEATHERS: You can if it hurts

They fell silent and Cas hiccuped, realizing he was crying. Shit. He wanted to type, pretend everything was okay, but his vision was obscured by his tears.

He sobbed, as he curled his legs up into the chair, wrapping his arms around his knees. The keening sound that escaped him was muted by the ringing in his ears. It took him several deep breaths and harshly wiping his cheeks, no doubt leaving angry red streaks across his skin, before he could read the one word reply from Squirrel.

SQUIRREL: Shit

FEATHERS: What?

SQUIRREL: I.. Are you crying?

How could he not? Because this was all such a massively confusing mess and he wished he could undo some of it, while holding on to the best parts, the bits that warmed his heart and focused his head in ways little else could. The fact that Squirrel had to ask, as logical as it was with an ocean between them, annoyed the living daylights out of him.

FEATHERS: So what if I am?

SQUIRREL: Shit

SQUIRREL: I’m sorry, Feathers, I don’t mean to be harsh or make it difficult for you

FEATHERS: I know, it’s not your fault

That at least was true. Squirrel had no control over Castiel’s emotions. He could not be blamed for what Castiel felt...

SQUIRREL: Look, buddy, I really like you

Castiel squinted angrily at the ‘buddy’ and tried to cut the rest off.

FEATHERS: As a friend, I know, I know

SQUIRREL: It’s more than friends. You’re my best friend

SQUIRREL: It’s also

He sniffled, wiping under his nose with his sleeve.

FEATHERS: What?

SQUIRREL: The distance, man… I don’t do long distance. I like being able to touch people when it comes to that kinda stuff

FEATHERS: “that kinda stuff”?

SQUIRREL: Shut up

FEATHERS: Eloquent, wordsmith

SQUIRREL: I said shut up

Castiel chuckled through his tears and the looming headache that was forming in his forehead, stuffing up his sinuses. 

FEATHERS: Like I’ll listen

FEATHERS: So are you saying that you would entertain the idea if I lived close by?

SQUIRREL: Feathers…

FEATHERS: What.

SQUIRREL: Did I stutter? I said best friend…

SQUIRREL: Might not be what you wanna hear but…

FEATHERS: You can be such a dick

SQUIRREL: I’d say you love me for it, but right now that seems kinda on the nose

FEATHERS: Brat then, how does that sound

SQUIRREL: About right. I deserve that

Castiel plucked a tissue from the box on the desk and blew his nose noisily. He took a few deep breaths, feeling a tentative relief settling in.

SQUIRREL: … How are you feeling?

FEATHERS: At this point I’m just relieved you’re not running away from me screaming your head off

SQUIRREL: Cut me some slack, will you?


	13. 1998

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get back here, Samuel!”
> 
> “Make me!”
> 
> “Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered.
> 
> He didn’t need to guess what this was about. Without hesitation, he joined the fray, thundering down the stairs to find his father and brother nose to nose.

**Texas, 1998**

He’d been wired all day, unsure of the exact cause. With a brain like his, Castiel was wired most of the time, but some days it was decidedly worse and the ‘cure’ for lack of a better term was never the same, likely because the cause wasn’t either. They’d dropped Anna off at the hospital for her check-up, which had resulted in her staying over for a night. Their dad was with her until visiting hours ended. Gabe was at some frat party and he actually had no clue where Lucifer was, except that he wasn’t home.

The quiet usually didn’t disturb him. Tonight it did.

He’d stopped trying to pretend the thought of Squirrel did nothing for him. Too much time had passed... Castiel had given in too often to pretend otherwise. Right now, he contemplated retreating to the bathroom and taking a shower, to allow his mind to wander. Guilt was a steady companion, even more so whenever they attended church and the subject matter hit a little too close to home. Sometimes he was sure his face was an open book in those moments. Sure that every other attendant at the church could read his dirty secrets from his face.

He wanted Squirrel to come online. He could always count on him. To poke at what was really bothering him, seemingly without effort.

SQUIRREL: Heya, Feathers!

FEATHERS: Hello, Squirrel

SQUIRREL: So what’s it gonna be?

Castiel’s penny dropped the second Squirrel’s question landed.

And shit, no… He’d pushed it so far from his mind, he’d actually succeeded at forgetting it was important.

Would feigning ignorance work?

FEATHERS: What’s what gonna be?

SQUIRREL: College, man!

Nope. He bonked his head on the desk, winched and rubbed his forehead for a second.

FEATHERS: Oh nooooo, not you too *hides*

SQUIRREL: *squirrels after you*

SQUIRREL: I will hound you until you tell me which college it’s going to be!

FEATHERS: Nu-uh

SQUIRREL: Come on, Feathers… We worked hard on your applications!

That was true.

Squirrel had helped create order in his particular brand of chaos, with an ease that would have surprised Castiel, if they hadn’t been friends for so long. Especially since his written words, in the face of convincing someone he _belonged_ at their art college, left a lot to be desired. The others, the NOT art ones, were easier, because he didn’t care as much. How people strung together whole papers that made sense was a mystery Castiel wasn’t sure he’d ever fully solve. So why his dad insisted he become a teacher or historian… He’d probably traumatize kids with his lack of structure and the way his brain functioned.

He squinted at the screen. One word would do.

FEATHERS: Noes

SQUIRREL: Yes!

FEATHERS: Why are you so adamant?

SQUIRREL: You have to ask?

FEATHERS: I just… don’t understand why everyone’s making such a big deal of this. Just lock me in my room and let me art

SQUIRREL: That’s why it matters. Cause you need to do what you love, make money off it and fly over

His heart rate shot up a touch, landing him squarely back in his bathroom shenanigans.

FEATHERS: Don’t they say motivation is key?

SQUIRREL: I do believe that is the saying ;)

FEATHERS: Hmm :)

SQUIRREL: I figure at least one of us should get to do what he wants

FEATHERS: Squirrel… you know there’s always time to change your mind, change course. Right?

SQUIRREL: Right. Except I can’t. So I will happily throw myself on that grenade. At least my brother has a chance, while I toe the line

Castiel sighed. What was it about older brothers and their protective streak? It would be charming , if it wasn’t so infuriating in its stupidity and selectiveness.

FEATHERS: Your romance novels gave you a flair for the dramatic

SQUIRREL: Heh, maybe. Now stop changing the subject to me

FEATHERS: Mmmh, if you insist. But then I’d like to take a rain check on this conversation? I feel like my head can’t handle it right now… I’ve been trying to distract myself

SQUIRREL: Any luck with that?

FEATHERS: Well, no, cause you weren’t online yet

SQUIRREL: Figures. I was distracted myself

And just like that they slipped out of the difficult part into the easy part.

FEATHERS: With what?

SQUIRREL: Watching Buffy re-runs

FEATHERS: Oofff, Angel

SQUIRREL: Shouldn’t I call you that? ;)

Castiel could feel his eyes twinkling at the screen, a smile splitting his face. But damn, Squirrel was drawing him in today.

FEATHERS: You are welcome to, sets my feathers all aquiver :)

SQUIRREL: Good taste

FEATHERS: I thought you didn’t swing that way?

SQUIRREL: Objectively speaking, I can appreciate the cut of that jawline

SQUIRREL: Lost your tongue?

Castiel huffed. Like hell. He groaned, unable to ignore his blood suddenly southbound. A tiny little lie, then. As in, he did have the thing, but he didn’t need to look for it. It was right there on his shelf.

FEATHERS: You wish. I was digging up my Buffy video

SQUIRREL: They have it on video?

FEATHERS: The older one with Luke Perry

SQUIRREL: Oh man! That ain’t half bad either in terms of aesthetics and such ;)

What kind of mood was he in?! Maybe he ought to cut and run. Take this to bed, whatever this was. He palmed a hand over his dick, stifling the soft groan. Which was stupid, cause he was alone and Squirrel couldn’t hear him. Oh, hell… Squirrel could be making noise. The thought of hearing that voice he’d heard a thousand times flirting with him out loud. Moaning. Castiel squinted at the screen, his heart hammering, blood flowing faster.

FEATHERS: You are distracting me to no end

SQUIRREL: Me or them?

FEATHERS: Just… ugh, hush

Yeah… Okay, fine. With a sigh, he dropped his head back and slipped a hand past the waistband of his slacks. Squirrel’s words flickered onto the screen, minutes apart. He licked his lips. It was distracting in all the right ways, because he was engaging with Castiel.

SQUIRREL: Don’t you fucking hush me

SQUIRREL: Okay, you might get to hush me

That had him grinning and he gave into the feeling.

SQUIRREL: But don’t ignore me

SQUIRREL: Feathers?

SQUIRREL: Where did you go?

SQUIRREL: Oh

SQUIRREL: You wanking?!

How the fuck was this where his mind went first?! He typed one-handed.

FEATHERS: Squirrel, seriously

SQUIRREL: Okay

SQUIRREL: You are, aren’t you?

SQUIRREL: It’s kinda hot

His pace stuttered to a halt and he blinked at the screen. Questions threatened to overwhelm his desires.

“Oh, fuck no,” Castiel muttered.

FEATHERS: Aren’t you full of surprises… Then by all means, join in

SQUIRREL: Well, shit, Feathers… since you ask so nicely

Castiel had no idea where he got the nerve nor did he expect the outcome of it. Squirrel didn’t run for the hills.

That was the first time. A stupidly short time to boot, cause his orgasm hit him like a brick wall. But what else was to be expected. He was wound tight _before_ Squirrel cooperated.

Castiel sat still in front of the screen, acutely aware of the fact that he was half-naked, semen drying on his stomach, in the living room. Granted, it was late and he was home alone. Yet someone could come home soon. And the timing meant it was worse for Squirrel. His heart was coming down from its excursion to the stars and a distinct unease settled low in his stomach, turning the afterglow of his orgasm sour.

He typed before his brain could tell him to just let it lie.

FEATHERS: Squirrel?

SQUIRREL: Yah, I’m here

FEATHERS: Can we not get weird about this?

SQUIRREL: Sure, yeah

SQUIRREL: Sure

FEATHERS: Just trying to head this off…

SQUIRREL: Yeah, no, we’re cool

*

**Rome, 1998**

Dean couldn’t believe he’d given into Feathers’ blunt request so easily. So often. Brazen. But the words, the subtle ways Feathers requested it time and again after, sent his blood singing through his veins, straight downward at an alarming pace. Every time. Shamefully so.

And who was he kidding? He asked too. Steered the conversation. Probably a lot less subtle than he thought he was.

He had freaked out after that first wank job with Feathers’ name on his lips. Mutual wank job, no less. One thing if he did it on his own… So yeah, this had all the makings of a mess which had him freaking out even more, because he wasn’t good with… this, whatever this was.

He did not want to lose Feathers.

The idea angered him. In fact, a lot about this angered him in ways he didn’t understand. Feathers had asked him not to get weird about it, which ruled out talking in his book. Talking made thigs weird, he supposed. Not that he’d know what to say, but all the same.

Dean sat up, ramrod straight in his chair, when his father’s booming voice sounded down the hallway.

“Get back here, Samuel!”

“Make me!”

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered.

He didn’t need to guess what this was about. Without hesitation, he joined the fray, thundering down the stairs to find his father and brother nose to nose.

“Uhh, guys?” Dean said, making an effort to control his temper at the energy that threatened to swallow him whole.

Sam cast a quick glance to Dean, his eyebrows doing that vulnerable trick, despite his eyes blazing at their father. John, however, didn’t even look at Dean, when he spoke. “Stay out of this, Dean.”

The order was unyielding and Dean’s hackles rose at the assumption beneath. That Dean, as always, would bow his head and obey. He shook his head. Once. Sideways. Clicked his tongue and winked at Sammy, whose eyebrows tried to meet his hairline at his behavior.

“What’s going on?”

John turned his considerable ire on Dean, who instinctively braced himself, rolling his shoulders back. “I said, stay out of this, Dean."

“If you’d kept it down, maybe I could have.”

His father let out a burst of harsh laughter. “Did you know?”

“Know what, dad?”

“No games, son. I know you barely leave your den, but the two of you don’t keep many secrets between you.”

Dean gave a shrug. “If they’re secrets, no point in spilling the beans, is there?”

A snort was his only answer, as John returned his attention to Sammy. “You can’t,” he stated simply.

Sam scoffed. Even at 15, he was tall and what he lacked in height compared to their father, he compensated in sass per pound. “You say that like I have a choice in the matter.”

“You must have, Sam. Feelings can change. If I acted on every feeling I had, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

“This isn’t just a feeling, Dad, it’s…” Sam waved his hands in annoyance. “It’s just who I am, alright? I-It-It's not like it's negotiable, like a dye job or a car.”

“Sammy,” John groaned, as he wiped a hand over his face. “It will hamper you in every way you can possibly imagine. And the military..."

“Whatever it keeps him from isn’t his path then,” Dean interrupted. Where the words came from, he had no idea, but they made sense for Sam.

“Dean, either help me make your brother see reason or back off. I have one recluse and apparently now one gay son. Neither of you will be faring very well in the military, if you keep this up.”

“Hey, he’s on the engineering track, isn’t he?” Sam snapped. “He’s toeing your line at the expense of what he’s good at.”

Dean bristled at the words, knowing full well they were true.

“He’s _doing_ what he’s good at,” John said. “So should you. Sammy, don’t throw your chances away over a whim.”

Lifting his arms in frustration, Sam’s hands twisted into claws on either side of his head as he looked to the heavens. What help he hoped to get from there was beyond Dean. “It’s not a whim! Shit, how can I get this through to you!”

“Mind your language, kiddo. I’m your father, I know you. This isn’t you.”

Suddenly Dean’s tongue clung to the roof of his mouth. Acid reflux burned in his sternum and he felt physically ill.

“Dad, jeez, leave him be.”

“You did know,” John accused. “You’re too eager to defend him.”

“So what if I did? It doesn’t change anything.”

“You could have told me. Us. Your mother…”

“Mom won’t give a rat’s ass, when she gets back,” Dean said. “And neither should you.”

The still expression in his father’s face rubbed him the wrong way. The way he regarded Sammy even more. As if he was a different person than before.

Dean barreled through, clinging to the core of how _he_ felt about his baby brother. “He’s still Sam, right? I mean, what difference does it make if his favorite music is not the same as yours, if he prefers rabbit food to burgers, or he likes to kiss boys?”

The words burned like poison as they made their way out. They sounded so reasonable, so true, and yet, he shivered under the weight of their implications. Nope. Nu-uh.

“It matters,” John bit, zoning in on Dean, “because it will make his life considerably more difficult than it needs to be. Especially because it’s probably just…”

“If you say it’s a fucking phase, Dad, I swear…” Sam hissed.

“Language!” John barked, lifting his hands in warning at both of them. “Who’s to say it isn’t?”

John’s arguments also consisted of very sensible words, Dean thought, as they slithered their way into his psyche. For the briefest moment, a hopelessness seemed to ripple through John’s shoulders.

“It has to be.”

“What if it isn’t?” Sam pushed.

“Then you…”

“What, Dad? Say it?”

“You can’t just let something like this determine your life, Sammy,” John said. “Make the smart choice here, the right choice. Our family…”

“It isn’t a choice!” Sam yelled. “And if the military expects me to pretend I’m anything but what I am, I don’t care about the family business. Then it’s not for me.”

“Let’s be real about that,” Dean added. “We’ve all known it wasn’t for Sam.”

When John glared at him, Dean thought he saw something pained leak through in his expression. 

“Dad… Come on. You know the military isn’t what he wants.”

“We don’t always get what we want. Now, both of you, get out of my sight. We’ll talk about this when your mother’s home.”

Sam let out an angry snarl. “Fucking hell, Dad, stop dismissing us like… like we don’t matter!”

“But you do!” John barked, looming over Sam. “You’re all that matters.”

“Then you have a funny way of showing it! Back off!” Dean growled.

He pushed between his father and brother, keeping his father at arm’s length. Behind him, Sam protested, pulling at Dean’s shoulders.

The air went out of the room, their father hovering just at Dean’s fingertips, as he looked from one son to the other in disbelief. Sam had never been a doormat and Dean was loathe to use the moniker on himself, but this was definitely the first time they’d stood up to John Winchester, holding the same line.

“Dean, stop, don’t…”

“Nah, Sammy, it’s alright. Dad’s right.”

He felt Sam’s breath in his neck, tone urgent. “Dean, what?”

“We can talk about this when Mom’s back. Let’s go.”

“Where do you think you two are off to?”

“I’m taking Sammy out for burgers,” Dean said, keeping his face and tone neutral, as his teeth clenched and tried to keep the white-hot anger from boiling over. “Or kale.”

“You’re not taking your brother anywhere.”

“That’s the funny thing about being nineteen, Dad,” Dean smiled. “I can and I will. Cause as Sam says, I’m toeing the line everywhere else, so there’s nothing you can do.”

John’s eyes narrowed at him. Oh, there was a shitload his father could do and they both knew it. At times all that stood between them and their father’s full blown anger was their mother, but even she wasn’t infallible. Sometimes John would put his foot down. Instinctively Dean’s thoughts skipped to the Undernet. To Feathers.

To what it would do to him if John took that away, nineteen or not.

“Dean,” Sam muttered. “It’s fine.”

“It will be,” Dean nodded as he turned his head to the side, glancing over his shoulder. “There’s no cozy family dinner to be had tonight, so let’s just skip that.”

Sam pursed his lips, eyes skittering around the room, betraying his nerves. “Yeah, okay. Sure. We can do that.”

Dean nodded again, as if convincing his body to get on board and get moving. It seemed to do the trick, as he nudged Sam and they walked out of the living room. Dean threw on his leather jacket, as Sam put on his coat and shoes. They hurried to get into Baby, but once inside, they settled in their seats for a moment. Sam’s cheeks puffed out as he sighed, while Dean let out an explosive huff. He looked to Sam, who mirrored him, his face an open book of hurt and quiet contemplation. Leave it to his baby brother to come out of that conversation without seething anger. At least, not on the surface.

“You alright?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam said, too quickly.

He smiled through a grimace at Dean and shook his head, as he looked at the dash or out the window. “I mean, we’re not gonna pretend we’re surprised at his reaction, right?”

Dean exhaled through his nose, annoyed, feeling the dimples stand out in his cheeks. “No, I guess we’re not.”

“It’ll be alright. Mom will smooth things out.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed with a conviction he hoped would help reality along. “I’m sure she will.”

Sam nodded a few times. “Thanks for, uh.. for stepping in and getting us out of there.”

“Sure thing, Sammy. Told you I’d be there if you needed me.”

“Yeah, assuming it’d be assholes at school.”

“Hey, we don’t get to pick our family,” Dean grunted, as he started Baby’s engine. He sighed at the familiar vibrations and backed out of the driveway.

“That’s just it.”

“Huh?” He glanced at Sam, as he made his way off base, maneuvering Baby on streets that weren’t designed for her. 

“If there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s that you can.”

“Me?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How?”

“Dean,” Sam muttered in disbelief. “It’s what you’ve been doing the whole time online. Finding your own family. Right?”

Dean felt thoroughly confused, because he’d never considered how him holing up in his room was anything but aggravating to his parents and weird in its isolation. Physically close people were less real to him than the Undernet crew was, which even to him sounded like something in his brain wasn’t firing right. 

“Maybe Uncle Bobby was onto something after all,” Dean muttered.

“Family don’t end with blood, boy.” Dean almost hit the brakes at Sam’s eerily accurate imitation.

“Be that as it may… I dunno, man,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve been making a mess of most everything lately.”

“How so?”

Dean shook his head, lips pursed. “Yeah, no, you got enough on your plate.”

Sam had the audacity to snort. “Sure thing. I think I can handle more than what I’ve got going.”

With a mild sense of surprise, Dean eyed his baby brother. For being four years younger, Sam seemed to be better equipped at handling pretty much anything life threw at him. Ever since they first moved to London, he’d adapted with an ease Dean envied. He made friends. He defied John in ways Dean couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

“Question,” Dean said.

Squinting at Dean’s stubbornness to engage him on the matter, Sam shrugged in surrender. “Fine, be that way. Shoot.”

“Do you really think I’m just toeing the line for Dad?”

Sam sighed, raking a hand through his long hair and hesitated. 

“Just spit it out, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam,” he smiled. “And aren’t you? I mean.. I know you like cars and you could reassemble Baby from scratch, if you had to. But the military? I mean…”

“The Winchesters have been in the…”

“Have been in the military for generations,” Sam finished his sentence for him. “Yeah, Dean, I know the story. Stories, even. We get to listen to them every damn Thanksgiving and Christmas. In spades, depending on how many people are at the dinner table.”

“Surprisingly, I know too.”

“So aren’t you?”

“What does it matter, Sam?” Dean grunted.

“You asked. And it matters,” Sam huffed. He fell silent, either because he lost patience, which was unlikely, or he didn’t know how to explain _exactly why_ it mattered. Dean couldn’t blame him. He had four years on him and he couldn’t.

“How about we drop all this heavy shit and just get some grub, huh?”

“Can we go to the place with the built-in library?”

Shooting Sam an amused smile, Dean nodded. Their burgers weren’t amazing, but he figured this wasn’t about him. “Sure thing, Sam.”

*

**Texas, 1998**

Dean’s behavior didn’t change after that first time.

The whirlwind Castiel got caught in after that moment had been severe. Severe enough for him to run lost in his mind. He missed their next meet-up. Meg tried to chase him down several days in a row, sensing he was completely out of sorts. He didn’t tell her what was going on, but kept her close enough to appreciate the comfort of her.

For a while, he wondered if he dreamt it up. There was no proof, besides what was in his head. No chat history to re-read. Stuff like that happened before. He’d wake up, caught between reality and dream, unsure which was which and sinking into the swirl of emotions. When he could summon the courage and if the person in question was reliable, he asked them whether something actually happened… to sort out his confusion. But this… he could only ask Squirrel. And he couldn’t.

Until it happened again. And again.

It didn’t change after the second or third time, he thought. Times which soon dissolved into a hot, toe-curling, delicious routine and Castiel was enjoying it too much and too scared of the fall-out to bring it up. He couldn’t even tell for sure why he gave into it after the weird dynamic they’d had before, the push and pull, and the constant feeling that there was _so much_ they weren’t saying. But he could be wrong. It made his head hurt on the regular.

And his heart.

Yet the change was there. Squirrel’s behavior probably wasn’t even conscious. Castiel hoped it wasn’t. The little things became tangible. When Castiel vanished into their private channel, he’d make him wait longer than usual before joining. Consistently. Equally consistent in the way Castiel never had to wait a second before. His greetings were sometimes more generic, less open. Some of the smooth warmth seemed to seep out of them. And for a time, he even withheld his songs. As if to make a point.

As if to make a point, because of their recently developed favorite pastime.

That, at least, he could call him out on.

FEATHERS: Hey Squirrel?

SQUIRREL: Yeah

FEATHERS: Have you consciously been keeping me waiting?

SQUIRREL: What do you mean?

FEATHERS: Whenever I go into our channel, you take your time

FEATHERS: And you haven’t shared songs in a while

SQUIRREL: I’ve been busy

FEATHERS: Even when you’re online?

SQUIRREL: I think I can be busy in my head as well

FEATHERS: Okay, I suppose so

FEATHERS: So what’s going on then?

SQUIRREL: Nothing that needs poking at

FEATHERS: Squirrel…

SQUIRREL: What?

FEATHERS: I’m still here. You said nothing would change

SQUIRREL: And it hasn’t, but I’m entitled to some privacy, right?

FEATHERS: Yeah, sure. You are. Sure

SQUIRREL: If I’d known you’d start questioning my every move…

FEATHERS: Hey, that’s not fair! I’m just responding to your changed behavior. I’m not behaving any different from before, just picking up the shifts in yours

Castiel was lying, because there was one Massive Difference TM, but neither one of them had the balls to address it. It just happened. Over and over.

SQUIRREL: You’re asking me to explain mine. That’s new. And guess what, people don’t always feel the same way

FEATHERS: I never said they did… but I can feel the distance for the first time and I don’t wanna lose you

SQUIRREL: You won’t, but you gotta believe me when I say that

SQUIRREL: Not everything that’s going on needs to be talked about

SQUIRREL: I’m okay, Feathers, we’re okay

FEATHERS: Are you sure?

SQUIRREL: I’m sure

SQUIRREL: Are you?

FEATHERS: Yeah… yeah, I guess

SQUIRREL: Didn’t peg you for the clingy type

FEATHERS: Fuck you, seriously

SQUIRREL: You are making me bite my tongue so hard, it’s not even funny

FEATHERS: Practicing restraint is good for you maybe

SQUIRREL: Okay, different angle then

To be able to switch subjects so easily was a testament to their friendship, Castiel guessed.

FEATHERS: I think I can take an educated guess, pun intended

SQUIRREL: Pun is right

FEATHERS: I’m going

SQUIRREL: Art college?!

FEATHERS: Yeah, I told my dad… he still doesn’t like it one bit, but my brother helped talk him down from his high horse and he conceded. With a whole slew of rules, of course

SQUIRREL: Such as?

FEATHERS: No frat house, I need to be home on time, no skipping class, no drugs, no sex. You know, the usual to ensure your kid remains exactly that. A kid

SQUIRREL: Gee… Way to suck all the fun out of it, dad

FEATHERS: I wasn’t planning on joining a fraternity anyway. The mere thought of a hazing freaks me out *squints*

SQUIRREL: Really? It wasn’t that bad. Though I’m still not sure if some of the stuff they fed me was actually edible

FEATHERS: I’m gagging already. Nope, it’s okay. I’m going where I want to go, the rest is side issue

SQUIRREL: Sex is a side issue?

FEATHERS: Yes, actually, I’m good :p

SQUIRREL: Uhuh

SQUIRREL: Oh, man, I’m stupid relieved you’re going!

FEATHERS: Thanks, it’s nice to get some enthusiasm about it. My brother may have defended my choice, but neither one of them thinks it’s a smart choice

SQUIRREL: Pray tell, what are those geniuses doing?

FEATHERS: I never told you?

SQUIRREL: Nope, it never came up

FEATHERS: The eldest graduated as a historian, the other’s an… entertainer, for lack of a better word

SQUIRREL: He took entertainment in college? If that doesn’t have frat boy written all over it

FEATHERS: Oh, no. Well. Yes, major frat boy! He’s actually studying law, but he’s just exploring his options, I guess you could say

SQUIRREL: Why do I get the feeling I’d love and hate him all at once

FEATHERS: He has that effect on people

SQUIRREL: But! Feathers!

FEATHERS: Yes! Squirrel!

SQUIRREL: :) Congrats on getting into fucking art college!

FEATHERS: Thanks, Squirrel, pretty sure I couldn’t have done it without you

SQUIRREL: Psht. You’re a natural

It wasn’t until a good deal later that the pain of what Squirrel had said sank in.


	14. 1998

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SQUIRREL: Look… it’s just for fun, okay? It doesn’t mean anything

**Texas, 1998**

Of course the day would come when the Undernet crew would meet in real life. They’d known each other for years. Castiel’s father wanted none of it and Squirrel’s parents didn’t want him traveling across the ocean on his own, not even at 18. Silver lining being it was just the two of them for over a week during spring break. It aligned with Europe’s Easter holidays, thankfully, which meant he and Squirrel were spending inordinate amounts of time together.

There were days when Castiel doubted his feelings. Because sometimes it felt the way it always did, which meant nothing had changed. His feelings for Squirrel weren’t what he thought they were. They were best friends. Exceptionally attuned. But then Squirrel would do something that sent his heart pinballing in his chest. Like that first time… but he understood enough of hormones to guess it could be… a fluke? Not for him. But for Squirrel.

But then something decidedly not platonic would happen. Something that went much deeper. Like today. Of all days.

And his mind provided him with fantasies galore.

As a professional day-dreamer, it meant quality entertainment and a cold shower, sometimes literally, every time he snapped out of it.

He focused on the screen with a soft sigh.

FEATHERS: Kinda quiet without them, isn’t it?

SQUIRREL: Kinda, but I don’t really mind

FEATHERS: Liar

SQUIRREL: Yeah, okay, I’m jealous. I’d rather have been there, but I don’t mind being here with you. How does that sound?

FEATHERS: Like music to my ears, oh, wait, no, cause I’m running out!

SQUIRREL: Actually, you’re not, hold on

FEATHERS: Squee

SQUIRREL: Did you really squee? Like, out loud

FEATHERS: So what if I did?

SQUIRREL: Nothing, man, just :)

SQUIRREL: Hey, ready for the thing?

FEATHERS: Always, you know that

SQUIRREL: It’s a slightly different something. For your birthday

FEATHERS: …

FEATHERS: You remembered?

SQUIRREL: You mentioned your family doesn’t make a thing out of it, which just didn’t sit right with me. Don’t know the exact date, but I figured…

FEATHERS: Today

SQUIRREL: Really?

FEATHERS: Yes, really

SQUIRREL: Lucky hit. Incoming ;) and enjoy, angel

*

**Texas, 1998**

Dean waited, but he stopped being nervous a while ago. And for some reason, what he’d created for Feathers for his birthday… He knew it was exactly what it needed to be. Equal parts subtle and brazen in ways the two of them were. 

He’d used one of Feathers’ drawings as inspiration for the song, cooking up a story he’d not seen coming himself when he started. But somehow it flowed. Easily. The thought that he could send something small across the ocean to his best friend, whose tosser family didn’t pay attention to birthdays made him happy. Simple as that.

He skillfully kept everything in separate boxes.

Cassie.

The lengths to which he and Feathers went to spend time together, against all odds.

The incessant flirting.

The wanking.

None of those things were connected.

Feathers was just… Feathers.

FEATHERS: Squirrel….

He smiled.

SQUIRREL: Yeah?

FEATHERS: You’re amazing, you know that, right? And I’m glad I met you

FEATHERS: And thank you. I don’t know what to say

SQUIRREL: No need. Just tell me you’re happy with it, if you are

FEATHERS: You have to ask? I’m stupidly happy with it, I can’t brain. Just let me sit here in my room with that on repeat

Dean smiled wider, feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

*

**Rome, 1998**

Everything was fine and dandy. He’d come clean to Cassie, which he guessed was something, and she’d given him more empathy than he felt he deserved, but that went a ways towards making him feel less miserable. Somehow both she, Nick and Lisa held their tongue. Rumors were one thing, but all of them could have made it public knowledge… which perhaps in retrospect might have been better, because then he’d have had to deal with it. Or not, because they were moving again soon.

It was one thing to face Cassie. Yet another to follow through on what he’d heavily implied to her. Dean didn’t understand. Up to this point in his life, he’d always made a decision and followed through in fifth gear. There was no in between. Except for this. And he didn’t know why or how to handle it. So it remained in its obscurity, waiting patiently.

That was, until Feathers himself brought it out into the light again in a way he couldn’t ignore any longer.

SQUIRREL: File made it through

FEATHERS: Okay, let me know what you think :)

Dean double-clicked the file and felt his cheeks burn hot. Feathers’ art had taken a turn for the pornographic early on, which had never been a problem. Hell, between all of them, there were few boundaries. The internet was probably the one place where you could a) be aware of someone’s kinks without it getting hella awkward and b) go “Hey, I found some porn you might like!” without anyone throwing a fit.

Initially the majority of that kind of art had been heterosexual, but, unsurprisingly, that had shifted in the past years. Nor did he shy away from nudity. Dean found he didn’t mind.

Until now.

Not because it was two guys.

Nonono.

The page was split in two diagonally, with spillover objects on either side. Pencils, paint, a guitar, papers with text. Sheets.

On either side was a guy in his bed. His brain was already zoning in on which of the two could be Feathers… but he tripped himself up, when he saw the subtle ways in which Feathers had drawn them masturbating.

Soft clouds of breath puffing out of their mouths. Tiny sweaty beads on their temples, on one between his shoulder blades, the other licking the corner of his mouth.

Dean’s mind imploded and a dangerous, wicked trail of desire travelled his spine straight to his dick.

He sat still for a long time, mouth dry, core temperature rising. The lizard part of his brain suggested he take this feeling to bed. Immediately. And let Feathers know, while he was at it.

He wanted to.

Which made him shiver, fear providing an icy counterpart to that coiling, writing yearning, and he clicked the file shut, blinking furiously, as he pushed his arm down on his groin with a moan.

Shit.

FEATHERS: Squirrel?

FEATHERS: You okay?

How long had he zoned out?

SQUIRREL: Yeah

FEATHERS: What you think?

It took him a while to get his English to work again.

SQUIRREL: Who are they?

FEATHERS: Well… I’d think it kinda obvious, but it’s us

SQUIRREL: Why?

FEATHERS: What do you mean why?

SQUIRREL: Why would you draw that?

FEATHERS: I.. I don’t know. You’ve never asked me why I draw anything

FEATHERS: Why is this different?

SQUIRREL: Because I’m in there and I don’t know…

FEATHERS: Did you honestly think that what we’ve been up to would have no effect?

SQUIRREL: I… I didn’t give it much thought

FEATHERS: There’s a surprise

SQUIRREL: Excuse me?

FEATHERS: You don’t exist in a vacuum, Squirrel, your actions will impact the people around you

Which was so close to what Cassie had told him, it stung harder than it ought to. Dean knew… his zero to sixty in 0.5 was always going to be problematic and for all his musings, he really didn’t always think things through. Or he over-thought them and then bypassed them altogether. Horizontal classification.

SQUIRREL: I know that

FEATHERS: I don’t think you do. Sometimes it’s hard to understand what you want

SQUIRREL: What I want?

FEATHERS: From… from us, I guess? From me maybe?

SQUIRREL: I don’t want anything from you, Feathers, you’re fine the way you are

FEATHERS: *sigh* but then why… why do what we do? Unless it’s something you do with a lot of people

Whelp, he wasn’t going to answer that one. If he lied, he’d hurt Feathers. If he told the truth, this seemed to be going down a slippery slope, he didn’t want to go on. So he said something dumb.

SQUIRREL: Look… it’s just for fun, okay? It doesn’t mean anything

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a long time, both legs bouncing nervously. He was fucking things up, he knew he was. Blind, he opened and reached inside his drawer, opening the Mars bar he found and stuffing his face.

FEATHERS: Right.

FEATHERS: Good to know, Squirrel

SQUIRREL: Look, I’m sorry if it got weird because of that

SQUIRREL: So maybe we should stop? Doing that I mean, I still… 

FEATHERS: Maybe we should

SQUIRREL: I mean, you’re my best friend, Feathers

FEATHERS: And you’re mine, Squirrel

Dean stared at the words, hard-pressed to ignore the possessive tone to them, which felt all too… pleasant. And that just wouldn’t do. They sat in silence for fifteen minutes, likely both trying to scramble for normalcy and failing, until Feathers announced he had to go visit his sister in the hospital.

SQUIRREL: I hope she’s okay

FEATHERS: Just a check-up, but dad insists we all be there

SQUIRREL: See you in a bit, Feathers

FEATHERS: See you in a bit, Squirrel


	15. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel looked over his shoulder and watched Dean’s fingers caress the feathers with great care, allowing himself to study him. Eyes twinkling in the shadow of the fedora. Tongue protruding. Scruff and freckles catching the light. A jawline that wouldn’t be out of place in a Greek god. He couldn’t let the opportunity slip from his grasp…
> 
> “May I?” Cas lifted the polaroid in one hand, angling his hips and tilting his head in a question, almost bumping into Dean, who made no effort to step back. The feeling of his thigh pressed into him risked derailing his intentions, but there was art to be caught on camera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squees* This was so much fun to write and the art! I can't.

**London, 2014**

Castiel tugged at the button down vest, which felt a little tight across the shoulders. The pants were hardly period, but they were neutral enough and he liked the soft fabric. They hadn’t packed cosplay material, but Lucifer’s range provided enough clothing to at least try and not look entirely out of place at a Victorian party. With some added accessories from the dealer’s room. He’d found himself a bowler hat, complete with paper rose and lace, and a pocket watch. On the bed were two sets of wings... He stood at the end and looked at both.

One was a pair of small, black wings, fanning out and down in striking arches, with details that reminded him of a piece he’d repeated over the years to check his progress, something with gold and stardust. The other pair was heavier, due to the intricate harness with cogs and gears and _paper_ wings, extending out like the rays of the sun. He let his fingers slide over the feathers on both, smiled at the delicate feel of them.

An early birthday present from both brothers, which made his stomach do weird things. They’d never made such a big deal about birthdays before, but then there was something about this new world order that he was trying to adjust to, alongside his brothers, which had stuff shifting and changing in ways that had perhaps not been impossible before, but surely improbable.

“Cassie!”

He looked up to find Gabe and Luci wander inside. Gabriel _had_ in fact brought enough clothes to mix and match himself into a three-piece, pin-striped suit with a hat, colourful scarf and cane, pocket watch dangling, and a lollipop in his free hand. Lucifer tilted his head at Castiel, his face obscured by a plague mask, another recent purchase. The rest of his outfit was black and simple, with a dark overcoat. Very fitting.

“I don’t remember giving you a key?”

“We got back-ups for each other’s rooms. Here’s ours.” He put down two key cards on his desk and gave Castiel the once over. “Not wearing the wings?”

“Kinda weird wearing wings in terms of historical accuracy, right? Though they are gorgeous.”

He made sure to tuck the key cards away, before he had a chance to forget. Or lose them. “Why get me the wings?”

“Birthday.”

“So you said. Why a set of _wings_?”

“I guess being around all these geeks is reminding us of your Feathers days? You insisted we call you by the handle for a while. Drove dad nuts.”

“If only that had been all that drove the man nuts.”

“Hey, he’s driving the angels nuts now.”

Lucifer lifted the mask and let out a loud laugh. “Or the devil, let’s be real.”

“Or Mom. He wasn’t all bad,” Castiel protested. Which was so very true, reconciling it with the rest of it sometimes hurt. “Yes, he was flawed and yes, he was… a touch dogmatic at times. But he was also alone, taking care of all of us.”

Gabriel clicked his tongue, wiping his thumb and index around his lips, then gestured at him. “So true, and where in the manual does it say that he can’t have tried really hard to be a good parent, yet still have failed us in some ways?”

“Fair point, bad timing,” Castiel replied. “We have a party to get to.”

Lucifer wiggled the mask back over his face and opened his arms wide. “Historical accuracy, my ass, brother,” he said, voice echoing eerily inside the confined space. “Put on the wings. Make an entrance.”

Castiel stood taller, eyes flicking back to the steampunk wings and grinned.

Gabriel chuckled. “We wouldn’t want to deny our school-counselor-slash-biker-boy Dean, now would we?”

The idea of making an entrance sent sparks through his veins.

“Admittedly, that doesn’t sound half bad,” Castiel smiled. “And you both can stop pretending we’re only doing this for my sake. Just don’t… upset his brother.”

He signaled at Gabriel to help him into the harness. Like a kid in a candy shop, Gabriel shoved the lollipop in his mouth, his cane in Luci’s hand and assisted him. “Sam? We wouldn’t dare! By the way, these babies can be folded in, just in case.”

“Yes, you would,” Castiel huffed. He looked at the ceiling, feeling his way around the soft wires and tightened the tiny clasps to fit around his shoulders. “If he’s even half as decent as his brother seems, he doesn’t deserve you being dicks. So play nice.”

He moved from one foot to the other to test the stability on the wings. They were surprisingly light. “Think I’ll forego the hat with these on.” He ran his hands through his hair lazily.

“Alright,” Lucifer said. “Enough with the brotherly bonding and let’s go. It ain’t going to get better than this.”

He tucked his wallet inside his vest, alongside his badge and rested his anachronistic polaroid around his neck. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he smirked… Yeah, it wasn’t going to get much better than this and he couldn’t help but wonder how Dean would react. The next second his pulse quickened considerably, because until now he hadn’t considered what Dean might be wearing and he wasn’t sure his heart could handle a period upgrade on that man.

*

Generally speaking one’s elbow room at a party was debatable at best, but period parties made it worse with their skirt sizes, headgear and sometimes ridiculous accessories. Dean loved every moment of it, as he slipped his hand in his pants pocket and accepted the wholly out of place plastic cup of beer Sam handed him. He double-checked his hip flask was still in place. Sam nudged his hat out of his eyes, ironically more annoyed by that than his perpetually in his face hair. The party was in full swing, but so far no Cas in sight. No one gave a rat’s ass about historically accurate music, thankfully, as Dean sang along to _Slow Ride_.

“Nervous?”

“What? No. Never. Maybe. Shut up.”

“Any other stages you want to rush through in 0.5 seconds?”

“Nah, I think I’m good,” Dean smirked into his cup.

“Maybe you need to find your best angle for when he arrives. Bend over the bar somewhere.”

Dean pushed his fedora up with his thumb. “Right now every angle is my good angle, Sammy.”

Sam laughed. “Oh, man, I hope Cas sees through that in a heartbeat.”

Dean held his tongue, thinking that Cas had already been doing exactly that, which made him a touch weak in the knees. Not to mention he didn’t always seem to hold onto said swagger with such ease around him. It had him glancing at the door more often than not, chewing around his toothpick nervously.

He spotted a dash of bright red hair under a brown hat moving their way and smiled. Dean tipped his fedora at Charlie, when she meandered through the dancing mass of people, side-stepping a sizable train on a woman’s dress, clad in her more practical archaeologist’s outfit, complete with whip and a miniature version of the ark on her hip.

“Hi, there, Ness,” she beamed, sliding her fingers behind his shoulder holster and giving it a tug, smoothing down his waistcoat. “Don’t you look dashing.”

“That’s the idea,” he grinned, wrapping her into a hug. “Much classier Indy than the one I met in speed dating.”

He laughed when Benny and Jo came twirling by in a toned down version of Jareth and Sarah. They breezed by in a blur of twinkling eyes and toothy smiles before being swallowed into the dancing mass.

“Ness, how fitting!” All limbs and skinny muscles, Garth hugged him, smiling from behind his Poirot glasses. “Dancing, my friend, let’s go.”

Dean chugged the rest of his beer, handing the empty cup to Sam, whose long arm dumped it back on the bar. Sam followed after Charlie and Garth to join the others in carving out a space to dance. Dean clamped his hand down on Sam’s shoulder, sliding an arm across his chest and pulled him back for a second, talking near his ear.

“Gotta spend a penny. I’ll find you.”

Sam slapped his hand on his arm, giving a nod, and they broke apart. In a smooth move, he spun around and mouthed ‘nerves’ at him, wiggling his eyebrows. Laughing, Sam danced out of reach, when Dean made to punch him. Trailing behind Charlie, he caught something, as his brother was wont to do, over everyone’s heads and grinned. Gesturing with two hands, Sam pointed at the door, gave him two thumbs up and moved backwards into the crowd, grinning from ear to ear.

Dean snapped his head in that direction so fast his neck hurt, but the balm to soothe it was instant. His breath audibly hitched when he saw Cas walk in, head tucked slightly, visibly nervous at the amount of people. His jaw went slack around the toothpick in his mouth and he stared at the sight.

Crisp shirt, warm brown waistcoat, chain dangling from the front pocket, and a gorgeous pair of steampunk wings fanning out from behind his shoulders, around his bed-head. Simple but so, so hot. And so inexplicably vulnerable. Dean exhaled on a smile, the soft kind, he could tell by how his shoulders relaxed, aware enough of Cas’ effect to purse his lips and tuck his chin.

If it wasn’t for Cas catching his gaze across the room.

Something changed in his whole demeanor when he saw Dean, much like it had the first time around and it made him crinkle his nose as he smiled. Dean wanted to believe he saw some of the unease go out of him. Mouth dry, Dean slammed it shut, cursing mildly when he bit his cheek. His feet moved, mind set on one goal and one goal only. His heart skipped a few beats when Cas mirrored him.

*

“Oh, this is entirely too many people in too small a space,” Castiel muttered.

He caught sight of Sam first and the frantic gesturing, before he ducked out of sight. Grateful to have spotted the giant brother so easily in the face of this crowd, he followed the trail instinctively. His gaze skipped to where Sam had been looking and found Dean, who in turn saw him and the air seemed to go out of the room. Some of his nerves went with it, which was decidedly unfair, because why would Dean have that effect? The music was muted by his own heartbeat. He moved forward, not allowing his brain to play tricks on him, wanting to close the distance between himself and Dean. Now.

His heart flip-flopped, while they moved through the crowd, catching and losing eye contact a few times. Castiel angled himself with care, afraid to harm his wings, but noticed people cut him a respectful berth until he and Dean were suddenly occupying the same square foot.

Dean’s cheeks looked warm, as he gave Castiel a lingering once-over, his expression open and greedy. With every flicker in those eyes as they traveled across his body, Castiel felt warmer. Excitement tickled his insides. Dean couldn’t seem to decide between Castiel’s face and his wings, and Castiel had to breathe in a few times, before he found enough voice.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“You’re telling me that?”

Castiel whistled lowly and watched Dean beam, revealing a row of perfect teeth, moving the toothpick around with his tongue. _Fuck’s sake_. “The way you look? Capone or Ness?”

“Ness, in fact. Nice catch. Don’t try to distract me. Where did you _get_ these? Can I touch ‘em?”

Castiel’s system went into overdrive, having Dean close and captivated, which was just as well as he couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming either. At least they were equally distracted. “Yeah, sure. Gabe got them for me as an early birthday gift in the dealer’s room. I have a right to be distracted.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

Castiel rolled his eyes at what felt like feigned innocence. “Didn’t peg you for the coy type.”

A low snicker. Aware, but modest, so perhaps not fully unaware of his own appeal. Good.

Castiel looked over his shoulder and watched Dean’s fingers caress the feathers with great care, allowing himself to study him. Eyes twinkling in the shadow of the fedora. Tongue protruding. Scruff and freckles catching the light. A jawline that wouldn’t be out of place in a Greek god. He couldn’t let the opportunity slip from his grasp…

“May I?” Cas lifted the polaroid in one hand, angling his hips and tilting his head in a question, almost bumping into Dean, who made no effort to step back. The feeling of his thigh pressed into him risked derailing his intentions, but there was art to be caught on camera.

“Shoot.”

Dean had the decency to chuckle at that poor pun, too close to Castiel’s ear not to send shivers down his spine. This escalated quickly, he mused, as Dean pulled his shoulders back and raised his chin, brass oozing off him, while Castiel snapped a first shot.

The polaroid had one delightful consequence. It took things slow. The picture passed through the rollers into his open hand. Dean crowded him, leaning close so his hair tickled Cas’ forehead. Castiel glanced up at him, shaking the picture in the space between them. Dean crooked him a soft smile. Their eyes fell to the visual revealing itself through the milky layer.

Castiel scrunched up his nose with pleasure at the sight. Yep, he still had it. When Dean wordlessly reached over, he handed the picture to him.

“More, please?”

A few blinks of those gentle green eyes preceded the nod.

By all rights, they shouldn’t fall into this so easily, so publicly, but there he was, wordlessly working with Dean… Like they’d been doing this forever. Maybe it was the shoulder holster over the fitting waistcoat that did him in. Or the way Dean’s eyes found his face rather than the lens from under the shadow of the fedora. Or how his lips worked around that damned tooth pick. Or just Dean. Who gave him an eyeful of Blue Steel for the last shot that had Castiel laughing, loosening a tightness he’d never realized was there. Sure, the lighting was bad, but he knew how to make surroundings work for him and… Yeah. Dean worked for him.

He tucked the pictures in his waistcoat and caught Dean’s mild frown.

“What?”

“I feel we need one of the both of us, at least.”

“A polaroid isn’t exactly made for selfies…”

“Let me try?”

Castiel handed it over without so much as a second’s hesitation, which was odd, because he was usually a bit particular about his material. He smiled when he saw Dean handle it with care. They crowded closer still, Dean’s arm slipping around his waist, as he held the camera out and snapped a shot. Castiel caught the picture as it slipped out, waving it through the air.

“Man, you look gorgeous,” Dean muttered on an exhale, then seemed to catch himself. 

“You, ummm, have a thing for wings?” Castiel put a lilt in his tone that succeeded at drawing Dean back to him, but really, having that face, tongue working the tooth pick, smack in front of his own, nope, wasn’t much better. It was glorious, because he could see the dappled gold in his eyes and count his freckles, if the effect on his brain hadn’t obliterated all forms of math.

“I might, yeah. Feathers, wings.”

Castiel smiled, the handle alien and familiar, coming from Dean’s lips, even as he was surprised at the honesty.

“Where did that come from?”

“Ahh,” Dean smiled, but the corners of his mouth turned down.

As he looked away, his long lashes effectively hid his expression, but it wasn’t fast enough. Castiel’s heart contracted when he realized he saw regret. Dean shook his head and his countenance was back to smooth nonchalance, his full attention returned to Castiel. Wherever he’d gone to merit that, Castiel wished the ache would soothe. Wished perhaps he was the one to soothe it.

“Memories mainly. It’s all good. They suit you, the wings.”

“Thank you. This whole get-up seems to fit you like a glove too.”

A genuine blush crept up Dean’s cheeks and some of the intensity of his cockiness melted away. Which was good, so Castiel could wrest back control of his brain.

“Thanks, Cas. So, umm, question,” Dean said, close to his ear.

Castiel smirked at the inevitable reply. “Shoot.”

“What are the odds of me getting your full name?”

“Slim to none, unless you chose me on our speed date.” He was teasing, he knew he was.

A spark in those eyes when he smiled. “Which means you chose me?”

“Wait and see.”

“Are you always this cautious?”

A fair question, delivered with zero annoyance, making it even harder for Castiel. The intensity to the past few minutes, in fact since seeing Dean from afar, made him want to acquiesce to the simple request and at the same time run the other way to safeguard his heart. Or more at risk, Dean’s. There was a blend of truth and kindness at work here that made it easier.

“Yes. Good reason to be too.”

That finally seemed to cut through some of Dean’s exquisite zen. Contrary to expectations, he found no anger or impatience. Instead there was something close to acceptance or understanding, in the way he nodded. If he thought Dean would back down, which he deemed the sensible thing to do, he was wrong.

“Okay, then what are my odds of getting a dance?”

“Are you always this adamant?”

Dean shot him a wolfish, languid grin. “Not necessarily. Good reason to be now though.”

Dean looked at him, patient and seemingly confident, as Castiel chewed his answer. They stood close enough for him to feel Dean’s warmth and he only had to reach out to touch him. The thought of which was exhilarating and frightening at the same time. He hadn’t… Not in a long time, and he wasn’t sure he could trust his body. Or his response to Dean.

“Will you be able to keep your hands to yourself?”

There it was. Genuine surprise and a wariness seeped in Dean’s eyes, though at what exactly Castiel couldn’t say. His jaw set in a tight line for a second, teeth clenching, which was distractingly hot in its charm. Just as quickly, his face relaxed.

“Yes.”

Removing the toothpick, Dean sucked in his lower lip, gave it a lick and a tilt of his head underlined his self-assuredness at his ability to keep his word. Castiel observed him for a few heartbeats and slowly it dawned on him that he believed the one word reply. Entirely.

“Excellent,” Castiel breathed out.

*

Dean tucked the toothpick in his pocket. 

Hands to himself. He could do that, Dean thought as he followed behind Cas. The past few minutes had given him a glimpse into Cas’ motivations. Well, to be fair, his senses had been on the edge of their seat, soaking up everything Cas said and did, conscious or not. 

Everyone had baggage. A part of him was seething at whoever had given Cas reasons to be so cautious. Boundaries seemed to be of importance to him, so Dean decided to tag along for that ride, steering clear of what exactly Cas might have gone through to land him here. Cas’ interest was real, even if the signals were a touch mixed, and he was too intrigued to run for the hills.

“Dude, won’t the wings get in the way?”

“Gabe said something about them being foldable. Can you… have a look?” Cas turned, casting a ginger look over his shoulder. “There should be a little handle to the side.”

Dean cursed the lighting and fiddled around the harness, leaning close enough for his hair to tickle the back of Castiel’s neck. He smirked when he saw goosebumps fan down into the collar of his shirt.

With a soft ‘ _got it_ ’, he found and slid it, the wings folding down and in, with some gentle help. As soon as they were, Cas turned around and Dean stepped back, trying, really he was, not to keep grinning. It had been a long time since he’d done this, amused at the turn of events. Cheerleading had given him near-perfect control over his spatial awareness and acute awareness of how close he was to someone else.

Which meant he was perfectly capable of keeping his hands to himself, yet ensuring his every move while dancing with Cas was close enough that Cas felt it.

His hands ghosted over every part of Cas he could get close to. An inch away.

The small of his back.

His hips.

His wrists.

Chest to chest, but never fully.

At one point, he knew Cas felt his breath on his neck, provoking a most delectable shiver.

Cas crowded his vision, filling his view.

Darkening blue eyes, as realization dawned. Twinkling. Dry lips setting first in a tight line, then shifting to a huffy pout, until eventually Dean got to him and he laughed.

Amping it up, Dean sang along to a crooner of a song, Cas bodily melting into it. He put his hands to Cas’ jawline, never touching, but he felt the heat of him, shimmering just out of reach. His fingers itched to close the infinitesimal distance, touch his scruff, capture his lips, explore his mouth and back Cas into a wall.

Sounds. He wanted sounds from Cas.

Was that it?

Dean sank into Cas’ gaze, taking him in. His skin lit up in different colors to the rhythm of the beat and the changing party lighting. He wasn’t sure they were moving anymore. They might just be holding still in each other’s space, life lines threading with every passing second.

 _Ah… shit_.

It wasn’t. Not just any sounds.

He wanted to listen to Cas talking about strange fantasy creatures and his theories on how reality was entirely non tangible and reliant on how deeply one was invested in something, which put you at risk for full disintegration. About how he sometimes had trouble finding the line between dream and reality, in ways that although alien made sense to Dean. He wanted to dig up old stories and songs, things he’d long forgotten, but wished to dust off and shine to share. simply in the hopes of making Cas forget whatever weight he was carrying. A dormant part of him stirred to life.

Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

It must have shown in his face.

Perhaps that was when something shifted. When Cas threw some of his caution to the wind. His hands came up, hovering over Dean’s wrists as he inched a little closer. Dean had to lean close and strain to hear his soft-voiced words, breath caressing the shell of his ear.

“I take it back.”

Dean ran his tongue over his teeth through the wide, shit-eating grin he knew was splitting his face in half and relished the grumpy expression on Cas’ face. Fighting every urge to immediately give in to what Cas’ words implied, he held his position and raised one eyebrow. He angled his shoulders to whisper in Cas’ ear.

“Take what back exactly?”

Cas responded to his twinkles with an impish smile, tilting his head back a bit, exposing his throat.

“Will you let me touch you?”

The question was not what he expected. Cas had a way with words that was off-beat, he was caught off guard. He cocked his head to the side and smiled.

“You set the pace, honey.”

Bravado, the nickname, but damn if it didn’t roll off his lips and fit.

“Really? You’re going to allow…”

“Go for it, Cas.” Dean grinned wider, watching Cas’ resolve crumbling.

Dancing got a whole lot more interesting after that.

*

Castiel let out a sigh as he closed the distance between them, his arms sliding around Dean’s neck. The fabric of his shirt and waistcoat shifted around him when Dean’s arms closed around his waist, blessed warmth seeping through. The scent of him hit like a freight train and he nosed into his neck on instinct, finding Dean as responsive under his hands as he felt. Foreign feeling. Too long ago. His instincts remembered, even if Castiel didn’t.

Not to the point of tipping himself over the edge… just enough to shut off that never-ending chatter in his head. It had been in charge for as long as he could remember, helping him survive. That much he and his therapist had agreed on. It was a survival mechanism and a good one, at that, but no more. The world had changed when his father died and he needed to change with it.

He wanted to get closer to this man, to Dean, whose expressive face had given him more than he had any right to in the last minutes. Just because he believed Dean deserved better didn’t mean they didn’t deserve tonight.

_You set the pace, honey._

He surrendered to a perhaps all too fleeting bond.


	16. 1999

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SQUIRREL: That I hooked up with a dude, so understandably she’s asking questions
> 
> Castiel forgot how to breathe for a bit. Fucking hell? What?
> 
> FEATHERS: And did you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas has the patience of a saint really.

**Texas, 1999**

FEATHERS: You keep teasing me

SQUIRREL: What?

FEATHERS: You keep flirting, Squirrel, even though we stopped… _that_ a while ago

SQUIRREL: I… What? I don’t

FEATHERS: Yes, you do

SQUIRREL: It’s not on purpose. I think I’m behaving the same way as before

FEATHERS: You are

SQUIRREL: Like you asked

FEATHERS: That too, I guess…

SQUIRREL: Then what?

FEATHERS: I didn’t realize it was going to be this hard

SQUIRREL: Really now?

FEATHERS: Not the time for jokes!

SQUIRREL: Sorry! Sorry. Just trying to understand and making bad jokes while I fail

FEATHERS: Well… It’s different now when you flirt, when we flirt. It gives me hope for a split second that maybe what we got up to was more real, and then I remember and it hurts

SQUIRREL: Shit

SQUIRREL: I’m sorry, Feathers, I didn’t mean it to

FEATHERS: You’re a relentless tease

SQUIRREL: It’s part of my charm…?

FEATHERS: For all the good it does me, I’m sure it is and I hate every girl in your vicinity for it

SQUIRREL: Whoa, that’s a bit intense

FEATHERS: No worries, I’ll sit on it

SQUIRREL: What’s that supposed to mean?

FEATHERS: *sigh* Nothing, Squirrel, I’m just very tired… this whole dynamic has kept me occupied lately

SQUIRREL: We’ll just… behave, alright? Get back to normal

FEATHERS: Yeah, I’d like that

Except he wouldn’t.

He’d loved every second of what had been. But it became increasingly clear that Squirrel was not going to give in… and Castiel didn’t think it was his place to try and ‘convert’ or convince him. Correction: he loathed the idea. Much like he didn’t want anyone telling him his sexuality was a disease, something that could be cured or passed on, he didn’t intend to imply Squirrel could be convinced into anything. Regardless of his own doubts. They were irrelevant.

So he needed to come up with another solution.

*

Bouncing his leg under the table, Castiel looked to Michael. Clearly in a different headspace, Michael oozed confidence and even though they had driven two hours to come here, Castiel was terrified he’d run into a familiar face. But he needed to do this. 

Squirrel was on his mind in ways that went beyond healthy. Or sane. Or fair. To himself or his best friend. Ever since he’d drawn the line in the sand, they had indeed not done it again. Outside that, their dynamic was a bit stilted… not to the point of panic, but Castiel missed it, all of it… even if it was all kinds of wrong, Squirrel was more important than his fantasies. And unless he wanted to risk losing him, he had to force himself to forget. To get over seeing Squirrel that way. The sooner, the better. It was insane enough that he had no idea what Squirrel actually looked like to be so into him, but here he was. Afraid of the word ‘maybe’.

Maybe he could tell him the truth, insofar as Squirrel hadn’t already drawn the conclusion.

Maybe Squirrel would still like him.

Maybe… Maybe he wasn’t as straight as he claimed. Why else had they...?

And that’s where the train of thought derailed, crashed and burned. A towering inferno of loss, because there was no trail to follow that didn’t risk him losing more than he wished to gain.

Instead he came here.

To a gay bar with Michael. Older college student. Intelligent. Impulsive. Experienced. In charge in ways Castiel felt he never would be.

His phone buzzed at him in his pocket and he checked it.

Lucifer.

**> > Little one, you safe?**

<< Yeah, we’re here. Thx for checking.

**> > Keep me posted in case I need to come find you or start digging a grave.**

<< For me or Michael?

**> > You have to ask?**

<< Never know.

 **> > Don’t do anything I wouldn’t**.

<< Well past that, I think.

**> > In that case, enjoy.**

Castiel left it at that, torn between a smirk and a scoff.

“Who was that?” Michael asked, jutting his chin out.

“Just letting my brothers know we made it in one piece.”

“They worried?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “Maybe a bit. They don’t know you that well yet.”

Michael gave an elegant shrug, dark eyes intense. “You’re the one who wanted to be away from familiar terrain. I’m just accommodating.”

“I appreciate it and it’s for good reason.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Michael shrugged. “Sure, the hide and seek can be exciting, but…”

Michael had a way of conveying messages without actually producing words. Castiel squinted at the implication. Yes, it was all a bit cloak and dagger, but he wasn’t ready and he doubted he ever could be out and open about his sexuality. Maybe the issue was his, but that didn’t change his reality. 

The comfortable safety of the Undernet, Squirrel, and his brothers in the know provided enough of a buffer for him to feel sufficiently himself and safe… he didn’t want the world involved, or its opinion. His public appearance in a gay bar was down to Michael’s insistence. It took all of three drinks, which Michael ordered, and being surrounded by who he presumed were people in a similar boat, to unknot some of the tension and Castiel let out a sigh of relief. A surge of warmth came over him as he looked at Michael and he decided to roll with whatever the night brought. 

Whatever Michael brought.

*

**London, 1999**

Dean glowered at the words, something ugly rearing its head. He wasn’t prone to violence, per se, but he was a sucker for anger, especially in the face of loved ones being treated like shit. And somehow Feathers’ new beau had all the makings of a complete douche.

It was a genuine sentiment, his concern, thank you very much. They had found back their footing as best friends. No more wanking, no more panicky moments of ‘what the hell are we?’. It was subtle the way they danced around it initially, but it felt normal again. Which meant the brakes were off when it came to caring for Feathers without having to panic about it being misinterpreted.

SQUIRREL: Michael did WHAT?

FEATHERS: He followed me

SQUIRREL: Why?

FEATHERS: He said because he was worried. Weird thing is I didn’t tell him which bar we were at

SQUIRREL: Remind me who you were out with?

FEATHERS: Bal, a friend from kindergarten who popped back up at college

SQUIRREL: So Michael followed you, because you were out with an old friend and… what? Worried about what?

FEATHERS: I don’t know, so I got pissed off

SQUIRREL: I should fucking think so! He has no right to follow you like that

FEATHERS: That’s what I said. Like he doesn’t trust me, right?

SQUIRREL: What was he gonna do if he found you?

FEATHERS: Nothing, he said he just wanted to find me, that he was worried for me

SQUIRREL: Feathers, even if he was... that’s just creepy 

FEATHERS: Shit

SQUIRREL: What?

FEATHERS: I dunno, I told him I understood. That it was okay. To be worried. Mainly cause he was so angry I wasn’t at the bar I said I was going to be at and I didn’t want to make it worse

SQUIRREL: Worried, my ass, that’s got control freak all over it. What if he’d found you? He’d have barged in?

FEATHERS: Maybe, I don’t know. He’s usually really sweet and he puts up with me

FEATHERS: Sorry to bother you with this, it’s my problem

SQUIRREL: Fuck’s sake, Feathers! A) I don’t care if he’s sweet if he gets mad at you for being at a different bar. B) Puts up with you? What, like you’re a problem? Like you’re not an awesome person and he’s lucky to breathe the same air as you?!

SQUIRREL: I wish I lived closer, I’d kick his ass

FEATHERS: Charmed, Squirrel, as usual. Now distract me

SQUIRREL: With pleasure, but my last two cents? Dump his ass, you deserve better

*

**Texas, 1999**

Squirrel seemed quite relieved when Castiel informed him that he’d dumped Michael. Not without a bit of drama, that involved Lucifer and Gabriel stepping in, but Squirrel didn’t need to know that. He needed to know about the bruises even less. It was a miracle it wasn’t the talk of the town. At least Castiel was reasonably sure it wasn’t. If he told him, Squirrel might start throwing around some testosterone again, which, charming as Castiel secretly found it, didn’t help much to keep a tight rein on his feelings.

It did however open up the conversation to something he’d been wondering about, most noticeably because of Squirrel’s mood.

FEATHERS: How are you and Cassie?

SQUIRREL: Okay enough

FEATHERS: Dude

SQUIRREL: What?

FEATHERS: I’m sure your enthusiasm gets her motor running

SQUIRREL: I… goddamnit, Feathers, I don’t behave this way around her, but you asked, so I reply

FEATHERS: I’m so sorry I poked it, Squirrel

SQUIRREL: You know I can read the sass in that, right?

FEATHERS: I usually count on it. So what is it?

SQUIRREL: No, it’s… shit, I’m sorry. It’s just, ugh, we got into a fight. Some rumors were flying around

FEATHERS: Please don’t tell me you’re the cheating kind, cause that will knock you down a few notches in my book

Which technically, if you took an honest, closer look at their masturbation fests, Squirrel had cheated. With Castiel. But yeah, ‘ _just a bit of fun_ ’ and no close encounters of the third kind probably landed it in the grey rationalization zone everyone was always so comfortable with.

He squinted at Squirrel’s reply.

SQUIRREL: What do you take me for? I’m not and I didn’t. It’s a rumor from a few years ago

FEATHERS: About what?

SQUIRREL: That I hooked up with a dude, so understandably she’s asking questions

Castiel forgot how to breathe for a bit. Fucking hell? What?

FEATHERS: And did you?

SQUIRREL: Not you too

FEATHERS: It’s a fair question, all things considered

SQUIRREL: Not the point

FEATHERS: Squirrel?

SQUIRREL: What?

FEATHERS: You’ve been very bitey lately and you do know I’ve known you for a while now… I can kinda tell

SQUIRREL: Just stop then, cause I don’t wanna go down this road, not today

SQUIRREL: Please?

FEATHERS: You’re asking me to back off?

SQUIRREL: I think so

FEATHERS: Okay, then I will. But here whenever you decide otherwise

SQUIRREL: Thanks, man, I appreciate it. Now to quote a friend, distract me

FEATHERS: At your service :p

That night, Castiel had trouble falling asleep. He knew Squirrel well enough to read him. He knew what it meant. If not downright gay, Squirrel was at least bisexual and refusing to accept it. Perhaps he didn’t understand it yet. Which was probably the first time he said it out loud to himself… 

Because up until now, he’d always chosen to believe Squirrel’s adamant proclamations that he wasn’t gay and that it had all just been for fun. Hell, lots of people went through a phase… but perhaps it was all a lie. Perhaps it was all a matter of where on the spectrum you landed. It shifted his world enough for feelings he’d buried under Michael and a lot of work to emerge. Feelings he’d almost convinced himself weren’t real.

Back with a vengeance.


	17. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re swaying on your feet, Cas.”
> 
> “Because I am very sleepy,” he sighed through a smile. “But I don’t want to go to sleep.”
> 
> “Why’s that?”
> 
> He stepped closer to Dean, eyes swallowing him whole, tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip. One hand fidgeted at Dean’s sleeve. “I might miss something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hums* cuddles. 's All I'm saying.

**London, 2014**

Jo stood, legs wide, in the middle of the circle, face alight as she set the tone for the Werewolves game. Dean’s room was the go-to for games and cuddles. Charlie’s and Sam’s were the dance and bar rooms, which probably meant he’d get stuck with the majority of crashing sleepovers.

Beer bottles and soda cans were scattered around them, along with plates and bowls of snacks and food. Several onlookers were sprawled on Dean’s bed and couches. Opposite him, Cas was sitting straight up, visibly aware of his wings, and fidgeting with his Werewolves card. He looked around the room, blue eyes glittering at the goings-on, as he chewed his lip subconsciously. Suddenly, he’d seemingly had enough and he took off his wings, putting them aside with great care, his fingers sliding over the feathers a few times. 

From hypervigilance to complete introspection in a matter of seconds, Dean lamented his lack of superpowers, more specifically, the afore-mentioned mind-reading. But privacy was a thing.

Endearment warmed his insides and he sighed, which Cas seemed to catch even in the din of the music coming from Charlie’s room. Blue eyes found him. Dean puckered his lips pensively, allowing himself to sit still under his gaze for a while. Cas’ shy smile belied a huge part of the sass he’d seen earlier and he wished, really wished, they were alone. This was going to hell in a hand-basket fast and if Gabriel’s chuckle to his right side was anything to go by, it was doing so visibly. Gabriel grinned at Dean, lips parting around the lollipop-that-never-ended.

_Great._

Sam sat next to Cas, Charlie and Dorothy separating Dean from his brother. On Gabriel’s other side was Lucifer, then Benny and Adam, who Dean was pretty sure escaped his mother. And two of the kid’s friends, drawing bemused looks from Benny with their endless teenage giggles. He recognized the girl with the guitar and the boy with the beanie as part of Adam’s online crew.

How they had snuck in he wasn’t sure, but Adam was notorious for gaining access to places he had no business being. Then there was the matter of whether being in the same room as his mildly drunk school counsellor was the best place to be.

Kid seemed to be enjoying himself, judging by the glint in his eyes.

Holidays, he told himself. Holidays and strictly speaking, not his monkey. Also, if push came to shove, he could call Adam’s mother.

He flicked his card between his fingers and smirked. Alpha Werewolf.

Jo snapped her fingers, bringing everyone to some sort of focus. “First night descends, please all close your eyes.”

They obliged, the music drowning out any potential spoilers of people betraying themselves.

“Cupid, I need you to wake up and point me to my star-crossed lovers for the night.”

A few seconds passed before she spoke again. Cupid didn’t need to think long, it seemed.

“Alright, everyone remains deep asleep, as I wake my lovers. If you feel a tap on your shoulder, please open your eyes and find your lover.”

With effort, Dean stifled a giggle, when Jo tapped his shoulder. He looked up to find Cas staring intensely. Cupid was a dick, so most likely Sam or Gabriel. Maybe Lucifer. Or Charlie. Come to think of it, anyone in his current debatable company. And yet his face muscles caved to the simper that formed.

Dean winked, reveling in how that tended to throw Cas off, but found Cas shooting him a kissy face, running his tongue over his upper lip in a mock lewd gesture that had Dean gaping.

Well, _shit._

Jo laughed. “Alright, my lovers can go back to sleep, if they deem themselves ready. Excellent… Werewolves, rise.”

Dean rose, glancing around for his fellow wolves. Guitar Girl pumped her fists in the air in exaggerated mute excitement. Dean lifted a finger to his lips, smiling, and thrust out his chin in question as to who to kill. Adam’s other friend was the no hesitation go-to victim. They moved about the game, switching between day and night, and it was hard not to stare at Cas, giving away too much. Well… of the game or his own heart which seemed to be in control and slip-sliding at the same time.

His objective shifted, he and Cas had to ensure they were the only ones to survive, but Cas seemed more occupied with being distracted. Distracted or entirely inappropriate. In the way he leaned his cheek on his hand, staring around the group, as if he wasn’t sure they were real. How he worried his bottom lip, when he got pulled into the conversation about who was innocent and who wasn’t (scoffing when Benny suggested how innocent Lucifer looked under his plague mask). How his hair still stood on end from when Dean had messed it up during their dance. The way his gums showed when Sam made him laugh, Dean wishing he’d been the one to do it.

_To fucking hell in a hand-basket._

Which apparently he’d muttered out loud, for his neighbor to hear.

Gabriel was in stitches, his eyes turned to slits.

Dean gave the shorter man a shove and made interested note of the sudden change in both Sam and Cas. No harm in upping his chances on the bet. With a wicked grin, Dean leaned closer to Gabriel, oozing charm as he whispered in his ear.

“My brother seems upset I shoved you.”

Gabriel, all twinkling eyes and mischievous smile, leaned in, tilting his head, and _batted his fucking lashes_ at him. “Did he now? Good to know, Dean-o.”

Dean had difficulty not bursting out laughing. “You’re a right handful, aren’t you?”

“You bet, but my guess is you are just as bad, cause you’re trying to get a raise out of Cassie.”

“Is it working?”

“Oh, yeah, and you’re gonna regret it too.” Gabriel smirked, hollowing his cheeks around the lollipop, which had Dean purse his lips for a second until his penny dropped and he retreated.

“Dude,” he muttered under his breath.

Worried he’d pushed a wrong button, Dean was a touch distracted throughout the rest of the game, but he and Cas worked well together, even if Cas was glowering up a storm at Gabriel whenever he thought Dean wasn’t paying attention. Amusing to no end and also the best way to spur Dean on.

It might have been that distraction that cost them the game. They woke and Jo announced that Cas had been chosen as the next victim. Throwing himself into it, Cas made a show of dying, sprawling onto his back, making sultry eyes at Dean as he reached for him.

“Goddamnit,” Dean cursed good-naturedly.

Dean pretended to suffer something similar to Cas and reached across the circle, until their fingers brushed together.

“Wait, what?”

“The lovers!”

“They’re what?”

Through a round of laughter, he heard Sam’s voice. “Who was Cupid!”

Gabriel wiggled his fingers at the group in roguish greeting. “You’re welcome.”

“Shit, man, we almost made it,” Dean said, looking at Cas’ upside down face.

“Do we need to leave you two alone?” Benny grinned.

Dean saw the shift in Cas’ awareness and he scrambled back up, crossing his legs, hands to his cheeks. Clearing his throat, Dean sat his ass back down and the group re-settled, sitting closer in patches of twos and threes. Guitar Girl unceremoniously kicked her guitar towards the middle and an offended sound of protest wormed its way out of his throat.

“Good grief, girl, don’t treat your instrument that way.”

The weight of it familiar in his palm, Dean picked it up, fingers itching as he felt the strings under his fingertips. She looked at him, nonplussed, and glanced at Adam, who shrugged.

“You play, Mr. Winchester?”

*

Castiel eyed the kid with the thin face and wide blue eyes. One of his students, he realized, but he was entirely caught up in Dean handling the guitar.

“I do,” Dean smiled. “You know The Bunker?”

Adam grinned and exchanged smiles with his friends. “We do.”

“I play there sometimes. Covers mostly.”

Dean gave the instrument a testing strum and visibly winced at how off key it sounded. Shooting the girl A Look, he went about tuning, slow but steady, and Castiel saw some of his essence melt into the instrument, as if they became one, instead of a man and a guitar. For the first time since meeting him, Dean looked like he let go, like he was not aware of his surroundings. Castiel noticed all his friends leaning into the moment with him, as if it was somehow exceptional and he found himself doing the same, when Dean started to sing.

He knew the song the second he heard the first notes.

The lilt of his voice lifted Cas’ heart out of its cage and out in the open. His body moved with the metaphysical experience and he pulled one of the pillows into his arms, hugging it in his lap, surrendering to Dean’s deep voice and the melancholy of the song. He wanted to dismiss the haunting familiarity he thought he heard in Dean’s voice, but couldn’t fully. It was impossible and his heart trembled as he cursed the past for bleeding into this moment.

It made him momentarily forget the exchange he’d seen between Gabe and Dean, and the rise that got out of him.

He drank in Dean’s face while he sang, a lethal blend of vulnerability and swagger, and he wanted to say that this Dean was something else than what he’d seen so far, but… he wasn’t. It felt like an augmentation, an extension of who he’d met, reaching for the skies to bring their magic down to earth… as genuine in its soaring as Dean was in his earthly presence. The stars and the soil.

Cas partly hid in the pillow, but couldn’t tear his eyes away.

*

Dean was aware of the intense focus on him and rounded his shoulders forward, as he handed the guitar back to the girl with a gentle ‘thanks’.

“Holy shit, Mr. Winchester, maybe you should switch to teaching music.”

“Not likely, kiddo,” he smiled. “But thanks anyway.”

Clasping his hand around his wrist, Dean tucked his feet closer, trying to get rid of some of the attention. Occasionally singing at The Bunker was different than this… and he hadn’t sung for loved ones this way in a long time. Cas seemed to be trying to crawl into the pillow he was hugging, his face unreadable. Charlie leaned into his back to hug him.

“That was beautiful. Do it again at The Bunker ASAP, yes?”

He gave a nod, glancing over his shoulder.

When Garth poked his head in, shaking his phone at them, Dean was relieved. It took all of ten seconds for the song next door to register.

“Daylight come and me wanna go hoooome!”

Under loud cheers, the group scattered, breaking the tension he felt, the majority of them shaking their asses over to Garth and into the next room. Dean laughed when he saw Gabriel samba his way up to Sam, who did _not_ make a beeline for the door. Who in fact shot Gabriel a look an older brother had no business seeing and his laughter died a sad spluttering death.

Until Cas stood in front of him, arms crossed. He opened his mouth, thought better of it and slammed it shut. Dean watched with interest and was also at a mild loss. He’d not expected that expression after what he’d seen during the song…

Cas was visibly confused, poking a finger sideways, uncrossing his arms and crossing them again, as he shifted his weight, face contorting while he tried to sift through whatever he was trying to say. “What… Did you hit on Gabe?”

There was a hint of hurt to Cas’ voice that twisted Dean’s gut and he reached out to him, capturing his wrist. “Whoa, no,” he said. “Not by a long shot.”

“It looked…”

Fucking Gabriel and his lashes.

“It looked like two brothers being slight dicks. I was trying to influence the bet,” he said. “Cause Sam had a knee-jerk reaction when I shoved Gabe.”

He hesitated, chewing his lip for a second and glanced up through his lashes to see Cas’ reaction as he took the gamble. “So did you.”

Cas had the decency to look away towards Sam and Gabe, rounding the corner to Charlie’s room, but a soft smile was forming and he saw the tautness leave him as rapidly as it had formed. “It’s bad form to influence bets, you know.”

“Baby, I’m all about bad form.”

“Like fuck you are!”

Cas cracked up, his full-on laugh higher in sound than Dean anticipated. The kind of laugh that showed his gums, and crinkled at the eyes. A ripple effect went through his body as he loosened up and his arms fell back to his sides. It was also stupidly infectious and Dean followed suit. Because he was so full of shit, he knew he was, but Cas was laughing and relaxed and leaning closer and it felt like Christmas came early when he wrapped himself around Dean, hands carding through his hair. Dean hooked his thumbs through Cas’ belt loops, gently tugging him closer.

It took some self-control not to dip in and capture his lips in a kiss.

But patience had gotten him here and Dean was no fool.

Instead he pulled Cas forward by the belt loops towards Charlie’s room.

They joined the Banana Boat shenanigans and got lost in the worst old school, retro songs. Eventually Dean caught Benny ousting anyone who wasn’t inner circle out, slow and steady. Jo helped by lowering the volume on the music. She gestured at Beanie Boy, Guitar Girl and Adam. The first two accommodated the request. Not Adam.

Escaping from her and then Benny, which was a feat in itself, Adam ran and nearly bowled Dean over for a hug, forcing Cas to step back. Dean pressed a hand to the back of the kid’s head as he held him, taken by surprise.

The kid squeezed down on him hard.

“You okay, Adam?”

“No,” he muttered. “I gotta go back to dad tonight.”

Blame the content of his hip flask he’d emptied over the course of the night for his next stellar contribution. “Well, that sucks balls.”

“You’re telling me,” Adam sniffled.

A penny dropped, as he held the kid at arm’s length. “So let me guess… Your mom has no idea you’re still here and…”

“Dad doesn’t care. Yep.”

Dean’s focus was on Adam, primarily, but he caught the emotions that rippled across Cas’ features, with something akin to understanding. Throughout the years, several kids had blind-sided Dean with the luggage they carried, full of painfully familiar stories. Circumstances differed vastly, but everyone understood rejection, fear and disappointment. With time he had learned to navigate them better, but something about Adam…

“Can’t fault you for it,” he muttered. “How are you getting home?”

“We’re walking. This is our city, mate, umm, I mean, Mr. Winchester. So.. I guess, thanks for having us here.”

“Pretty sure you snuck in, as usual. You still got my number, right?”

Cas’ face softened, though at what exactly Dean couldn’t say. He was acutely aware of the potential vulnerability in Adam, but the kid seemed to be steeling himself in an exceedingly familiar way.

“I do,” he nodded. “And, uhh, nice to meet you too, umm, _sir_.”

Cas looked like he was about to suffer a stroke. “Please don’t call me sir, Adam… That was my father. Cas will do.”

Adam eyed Cas up and down with clever scrutiny and gave a nod. “Yeah, cool. Nice meeting you. You two, umm, well... Haven’t seen Mr. Winchester smile so often. Like, ever.”

The emphatic expression in his face drove the point home embarrassingly and Dean flinched. “Lies, kid. I smile. A lot.”

Adam gave him a testy once-over and smirked. “Not the way you smile at him.”

Dean made to open his mouth, but the concept of ‘the lady doth protest too much’ sprung to mind and he thought better of it. Instead he patted the kid on the cheek and Cas did him the favor of speaking, because Dean might have forgotten how to English.

“Pleased to meet you too, Adam. I think you got the most out of this convention.”

That got Adam grinning wide and he puffed his chest out a bit. “I certainly did.”

Dean found his voice back, clearing his throat. “Text me when you are home safe. No lies.”

“Yeah, sure,” Adam scowled.

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, Mr. Winchester, so am I. I’ll text, I promise.”

They watched Adam leave and stood in silence for a while. There were cuddle piles forming at a rapid pace, two of which were on the second bed in his room. Some had laid out inflatable mattresses across all three rooms. The quiet of night cut through the humming in his assaulted ears, giving everything that cotton-balled side-effect.

Dean was aware of Cas pressing into his side and part of his back, as he mulled over Adam’s predicament. He balled his hands to fists, anger at his powerlessness getting the better of him, not for the first time. There were only a few things that pushed him to this point…

“You okay?” Cas asked, his voice cutting through the haze.

Willing his heart to slow down, he breathed deeply a few times, until he remembered the progress they’d made with Adam.

“Okay enough,” he smiled, glancing over his shoulder at Cas, who was a lot closer than he realized. “Kid’s been in worse.”

That got a raise out of those expressive eyebrows.

“Seriously,” Dean nodded. “It was worse when his parents were still an item. His dad’s an alcoholic, so is the grandmother on that side. Some of the bruises on him… At least now he’s safe most of the time.”

“Still it must be hard not to be able to intervene,” Cas muttered, lips close to Dean’s ear.

Dean shivered and turned so he could take in Cas, sink back into whatever it was they had going. It was warm and reassuring, even if it had all the makings of an air castle.

He was grateful Cas didn’t push for solutions. _Why doesn’t she file for full custody? Why don’t you file a complaint?_ For starters, the school’s hands were more often than not tied, unless some Trademark Capital D-Drama happened, usually of the violent, involve-the-popo variety. Secondly, sometimes people navigated the paths available with a flexibility to ensure survival, not solution. Both physically, emotionally and financially. Not everyone could afford the expensive court solution. Or any kind of solution, so they just plodded on as best they could, adults and kids alike.

“It can be. I just wish some of them had it easier.”

“Than you?”

Dean dipped his fingers into the pockets of his waistcoat, swaying his shoulders as he shook his head. “I’ve been lucky compared to most of them. Granted, my dad was a bit of a domineering dick, but with, let’s say, 18/20 retrospect vision, that still came from the best intentions. Except for the homophobia.”

Cas squinted, his head cocked sideways in the cutest inquisitive gesture, even though his eyes flashed in anger. “Again with that. What is it with the homophobia? We can only hope our generation does better.”

“You’d think so, but alas, patterns repeat. To this day,” Dean agreed. “No, I just wish they had it easier in general. I’m fine.”

“That you are,” Cas mumbled.

Uncharacteristically blunt, that, so Dean took a closer look at him and noticed the fatigue in Cas’ face. He smiled, the soft kind, which relaxed his eyes.

“You’re swaying on your feet, Cas.”

“Because I am _very_ sleepy,” he sighed through a smile. “But I don’t want to go to sleep.”

“Why’s that?”

He stepped closer to Dean, eyes swallowing him whole, tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip. One hand fidgeted at Dean’s sleeve. “I might miss something.”

Dean lost his ability to speak. What was it about Cas? Aside from the bloody obvious of his looks, his adorable awkwardness, his head in the clouds, his wit, beyond all that, Dean felt a constant tug at his core. Something he’d felt only once in his life, but he really needed to shy away from that pipedream.

_Steer clear of it, Winchester._

“How about this?” he offered. “Been on our feet nearly all day. We dump our accessories on my chair, get in bed and not miss a thing for as long as we can. The party’s dying down…”

“I can work with that,” Cas smiled.

In full agreement for the first time today, they moved in harmony… Cas picked up his wings and looked on as Dean undid his shoulder holster. They both discarded various items: the fedora, the watch, flask, sketchbook, badges, wallets, polaroid, Cas’ waistcoat, the pictures … becoming a still life on the chair and table.

They stared at the bed, trying really hard not to stare at each other. Dean wasn’t sure what to make of what followed. Acutely aware, yet at ease, Cas was the first to move onto the mattress. Dean watched it dip under his weight, as he lifted the covers and with a deep sigh went face-first into the pillow, like a cat rolling in catnip. Dean snickered, his heart swelling painfully at the sight.

It got him moving in pursuit of him, eager to feel Cas, to get him in his arms. They mucked around with the sheets and duvet, cocooning it around them until he found himself face to face with Cas, legs entangled. Cas’ hands rested between them, absentmindedly playing with his necklace. His own found anchor at Cas’ hip, the other arm sliding under Cas’ neck. It was all kinds of chick flick and at the same time so many levels of intensely right, it threatened to chase him into an out of body experience.

If it wasn’t for Cas grounding him. His scent. His open expression. Fingers teasing his skin.

There wasn’t much talking. Every night has a point of no return, where speech becomes an invasion and it seemed they’d hit that mark. Too enraptured in each other’s physical presence, they just… were, wrapped in each other’s arms.


	18. 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew got spammed when Squirrel and his family hit midnight before they did. Then he got extensive happy Newyear’s wishes. But… in the group chat.
> 
> SQUIRREL: The subtle way your voice sounds, though I’ve never heard you, reaching across the expanse, art flows through your veins, and reaches for mine, as they blend and bend and reshape over and over, so we can ring in a new year time and time again. Happy New Year, my Feathers, may many more follow.
> 
> GHOSTWRITER: Oh my…
> 
> JARETH: Uh… Did you mean to send that in the group, brother?

**Texas, NYE 1999**

Y2K had most of the world in a knot. Castiel too, though Squirrel tried to assure him their little nook on the internet wouldn’t spontaneously combust. So he hovered near the computer as often as he could, distracted even more than usual. It drove his father and Anna crazy. Especially with the rest of the family around. Uncle Rafe, whose personality meant he was still single and complaining every chance he got. Aunt Amara, whose eyes seemed to see through Castiel, and her stuffy husband, who basically noticed nothing at all and followed her lead. He gave up trying to explain his crew several years back, which didn’t stop them from being nosy.

They stayed logged on throughout the day, all of the crew lingering in the Undernet channel. They kept tabs, dropping aggravating family anecdotes and plans for the day into the chat. Jareth and his lady were going out with family, then partying. Jo was navigating the minefield that was _her_ family, both parents at the same table for the occasion. Garth had his hands full with his massive family and his reception was going to get spotty, because they were camping. Even Meg showed up for five whole seconds, just for kicks.

Lucifer and Gabe’s teasing didn’t help, but Castiel shrugged it off as best he could. As long as they didn’t actively prevent him from being around his friends, he was okay.

The crew got spammed when Squirrel and his family hit midnight before they did. Then he got extensive happy Newyear’s wishes. But… in the group chat.

SQUIRREL: The subtle way your voice sounds, though I’ve never heard you, reaching across the expanse, art flows through your veins, and reaches for mine, as they blend and bend and reshape over and over, so we can ring in a new year time and time again. Happy New Year, my Feathers, may many more follow.

GHOSTWRITER: Oh my…

JARETH: Uh… Did you mean to send that in the group, brother?

SQUIRREL: Whelp. No wait, whoops

WEREBOY: Drunk :) but then aren’t we all?

GHOSTWRITER: I am officially jealous of that friendship

JARETH: But also happy right? Like a good friend

GHOSTWRITER: Of course, but sometimes I wish people wrote me stuff like that. Hop to it, Jar

JARETH: I’ll send you something tomorrow, but don’t hold your breath

WEREBOY: Awwww, you two are so cute

FEATHERS: Yeah, just ignore me for now

GHOSTWRITER: Wanna bet he’s blushing?

WEREBOY: Sure, ‘blushing’

SQUIRREL: Don’t soil this! Were! You of all people :p

FEATHERS: I was gonna say something similar!

SQUIRREL: Heh, but you’re probably right. He’s blushing

FEATHERS: You’re hilarious, Squirrel

SQUIRREL: I am! But you love me

GHOSTWRITER: Hahaha, oh, I’m loving this

FEATHERS: Thanks, Squirrel <3

SQUIRREL: You’re welcome. I’ll send you the song when my motor skills return to me. Typing is hard and fam is being annoying

SQUIRREL: we are not!

FEATHERS: Did someone just knock Squirrel out?

SQUIRREL: No, his brother has him in a headlock

GHOSTWRITER: Aww, come on, don’t do that! We like his head

JARETH: Ghostie, don’t say those things to strangers

SQUIRREL: Hahaha, I’m sure you guys do!

FEATHERS: Who are you?

SQUIRREL: Part of the military fam ;) just wanted to say hi and wish you all a happy new year too. He barely shuts up about you

FEATHERS: Happy new year to you too. Now please give me back my Squirrel?

SQUIRREL: This is all very undignified! I’m back, I’m back

GHOSTWRITER: Which part exactly? The headlock? The fact that Feathers calls you his Squirrel?

JARETH: To be fair, he called him his Feathers first

SQUIRREL: The headlock, man, the headlock. He’s my baby brother, this just isn’t right, he’s strong as an ox

Happy, Castiel clung to the computer for another half hour, until the chaos that was their household needed more hands to handle everything. And his aunt was starting to hover too closely. Unwilling to go, he sent a massive amount of hearts and kissy faces into the chat. It wasn’t sufficient to express how he felt, but it would have to do.

Gabriel snuck a peek on the regular throughout the day, while they prepared dinner, but in the group channel, Castiel didn’t care what his brother might see. He knew Gabe’s porn collection was on par with any kind of curveball they might throw. Lucifer was working closely with Anna, helping her maneuver the wheelchair through the kitchen and following her directions. It felt good to have his crew present in the living room without it being a problem.

Even their father was getting genuinely swept up in the holiday spirit. Anna was doing okay, which went a long way towards his overall state of mind, a waterfall effect cascading down. It gave everyone more room to breathe and God’s presence at their table lifted, barely.

As midnight neared on the 31st of December 1999, Castiel kept an eagle eye on his computer, excessively scared the Y2K bug was going to cut him off from them. Disengaging from his sister’s hug, Castiel smiled and watched his family. They were far from perfect. In fact, if he wasn’t pleasantly buzzed, he’d likely be distracted by the contrast between this put-on façade for the sake of the birth of Jesus versus their daily lives. But they were who they were and he had another family to get to.

He moved closer to the computer, nudging the mouse. The screen flickered to life.

FEATHERS: Happy New Year from the past, you crazy family!

He smiled at the barrage of replies, relieved that the internet in fact did not crash and burn. When he spotted the channel ‘Feathers here now!’, he scoffed a laugh and entered it.

SQUIRREL: Feathersssssss! You listened

FEATHERS: You as drunk as a skunk? Well, a squirrel? Why aren’t you in bed?

SQUIRREL: Duh… I stayed up to wish second new year’s! Happy New Year, Feathers! A massive hug from this side of the ocean

FEATHERS: Happy New Year, Squirrel <3 I wish I could get that irl

SQUIRREL: Shit, me too! One day, I’m sure <3

“Oooh, hearts and hugs. Who’s this?” Gabe cooed behind him.

“Squirrel, who else? Shove off already,” Castiel said, but he was smiling too much to put a lot of force behind the words.

Gabriel sing-songed something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Santa, Baby’ and he sent his foot flying after him, his brother bouncing out of reach with hearty giggles.

“You’re a nightmare, Gabe!”

“Love you too, Cassie!”

His father landed an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing in that loving, hard way he did. “Squirrel? This is your friend you’ve been talking about all these years?”

Castiel smiled brightly at his father and nodded. “Quite a few of them are still awake.”

“Just to wish happy new year’s?”

“Yep.” He tried not to sound smug.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand,” he sighed, but he seemed relatively pleased. “So any girlfriend among that group?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Huh? What? No. Nu-uh. No girlfriend.”

“So smooth, little one.”

Castiel glared daggers at Lucifer, who passed behind him and his dad, but bit his tongue. This kind of attention wasn’t good for anyone. He tried to convey as much with his face, but it was Anna who came to his rescue.

“Fireworks! Help me out on the deck, guys.”

Castiel practically shoved Lucifer towards Anna and bent over the keyboard. His father followed his siblings outside.

SQUIRREL: A hug sounds real good actually

SQUIRREL: So how’s it going on your end? Family behaving?

SQUIRREL: Feathers?

FEATHERS: I’m here, sorry, they’re all very present

FEATHERS: And Anna wants to go see the fireworks outside

SQUIRREL: Then you gotta join, man

FEATHERS: I don’t think so

SQUIRREL: I’m too sleepy anyway for conversation

FEATHERS: That’s okay

SQUIRREL: It is?

FEATHERS: We’ve been sleepy behind the screen so often, so nothing’s gonna change there. No new year, new me crap needed for us

SQUIRREL: Awww, Feathers, come on, man, now you’re makin’ me blush. Besides all I’d do right now is flop on and snore. Probably drool too

FEATHERS: I’m sure you’d be adorable while doing so

SQUIRREL: Psssht, I’ma just curl up here with you

FEATHERS: I’m happy you’re here, Squirrel

SQUIRREL: You okay?

FEATHERS: Yeah, I am. Not brilliant with words, but sometimes things need to be said, yeah?

SQUIRREL: I’m happy you’re still here too, Feathers. It’s been years by now, you do realise that?

FEATHERS: Going on six methinks

SQUIRREL: The memory vault’s growing

FEATHERS: Memory vault?

SQUIRREL: Yeah, like a vault for precious things, but memories 

FEATHERS: :) I like that

There was the briefest moment where a shiver ran down his spine. He liked this open, honest version of Squirrel… granted, he was drunk, so that cast a hint of a shadow. Sometimes he worried whether he’d distance himself again, without any clear indication or reason.

He glanced at the deck, where he saw his family and the fireworks lighting up the sky. His eyes were drawn back to the screen, on the other side of which was Squirrel. Barring one glaringly obvious option, Castiel wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

*

**Texas, 2000**

At times, Castiel was loathe to admit it, but it made things easier. Knowing there was no one else on the other side, stealing Squirrel from him. Aside from his family and the cheerleading friends. Regular friends. Somehow they were each other’s. Exclusive sprang to mind.

He always was a touch possessive. With two older brothers who had no concept of privacy and a younger sister whose bad luck put her on the lucky side of indulgent parenthood, Castiel had learned early on to guard what he held dear. His room was a veritable scavenger hunt.

He’d scavenged up an old sketch. Something he’d drawn years ago, the first time he’d experienced feelings for Squirrel without realizing what they were. Reworked it. Its lines were crisp, the vibe muted but powerful, or so he hoped. Squirrel had made it obvious over the years how much he loved the way Castiel drew wings.

Squirrel showed up online nearly on the dot of their usual time.

FEATHERS: Hello, Squirrel! Happy birthdaaaaaaayyyyyyy!

SQUIRREL: Heya, Feathers :) thanks

FEATHERS: How’s your day been so far? People done right by you?

SQUIRREL: Can’t complain! Charlie and Sam got me a new guitar

SQUIRREL: Mom and dad are home, though father dear side eyed that gift, and the NYE hijack friend with her parents are coming over for dinner, and our uncle too.

SQUIRREL: And then going out with my brother tonight

FEATHERS: You sound so excited :)

SQUIRREL: Because I am. All that’s needed to cherry my pie would be you travelling this way ;)

Cherry his pie. Castiel let out a sweet huff, basking in the ease of their dynamic. There were no words to express how relieved he was that they had been able to get to this point after all they’d been through.

FEATHERS: Charmed, as ever. Next best thing is on its way

The conversation fell quiet for a while, as Squirrel ventured to ICQ to find the gift. Castiel smiled when he saw him beginning to type a few times over, before something eloquent made its way through.

SQUIRREL: Is that… one of my songs incorporated in the background?

FEATHERS: I can always rely on you to catch the details

SQUIRREL: It’s beautiful, Feathers. You are aware I print and save all of these, right? I’ve been hanging them on my walls for years now

FEATHERS: Until a second ago, I wasn’t aware. In a similar fashion, you should probably know I have cassette tapes with your songs?

SQUIRREL: We’re better together, what can I say?

*

**London, 2000**

Dean sighed in relief. Easter holidays. He eyed the stack of books and notes from the exams. He’d passed every one of them, but at a cost. The times of skating through class seemed to be behind him. Some of his results were… debatable, even though he’d tried his hardest and for the life of him, he didn’t understand why.

Granted, he skipped some classes. But he had good people to rely on and the help went both ways, when they skipped. Somehow being in class didn’t cut it anymore.

SQUIRREL: Hi guys! How is everyone?

WEREBOY: My sleep pattern is all fucked up because of these holidays

GHOSTWRITER: We’re painting my room tomorrow. Well, all of the upstairs actually

FEATHERS: I have been spending time outside, imagine that

JARETH: Is your room on fire?

FEATHERS: I picked up jogging and you know, see things I want to draw, especially that early in the day

SQUIRREL: Hork, mornings…

JARETH: So the jogging isn’t really working out?

FEATHERS: No, but the drawing is!

SQUIRREL: You’re adorable. What got you distracted?

GHOSTWRITER: My guess? Everything :)

FEATHERS: Close. Mainly leaves, flowers and animals, people

JARETH: Everything

FEATHERS: Umm, it may have started with a squirrel :p

GHOSTWRITER: Lol, I’m dying here!

JARETH: Hahaha! Was there ever any doubt about where it all started?

Dean grinned wide at the screen, but decided not to tease Feathers. It was kinda getting laid on thick by the others, though the idea charmed the pants off of him.

WEREBOY: You guys! I got my driver’s license!

SQUIRREL: Aaahhh! Congrats, man. Did you take lessons?

WEREBOY: Nah, my mom taught me

FEATHERS: Ooff, I hope that went well. It was terrible learning with my dad

SQUIRREL: Same, I switched to classes in the end

GHOSTWRITER: Well done, wolfie, now we have even less reasons not to meet

FEATHERS: Wait, classes… it reminds me of a thing. I am forgetting a thing

JARETH: Yeah, Squirrel wanted to ask you college stuff

GHOSTWRITER: “College stuff”?

JARETH: Sweetheart, I’m so far removed from what Squirrel is getting up to, it’s all stuff to me

GHOSTWRITER: Jar, seriously, we’ve been over this ‘tude

SQUIRREL: Yeah, but when I need to bury a body, I know who to turn to

FEATHERS: Yeah, your parents O.o

WEREBOY: I’ll drive ;)

SQUIRREL: I love you guys so much :) I’ma switch channels, Feathers

FEATHERS: Right behind you

GHOSTWRITER: Stop making excuses, guys, we know by now <3

With a few clicks, he switched channels, Feathers indeed hot on his heels. He was grateful Jareth remembered, because he’d been uncomfortable mentioning the problem the first time around. Dean was used to handling his issues on his own.

FEATHERS: Hello, Squirrel, what’s going on?

SQUIRREL: Heya, Feathers, so I passed all my exams, right?

FEATHERS: Yesh, I remember 

SQUIRREL: My grades aren’t what they used to be and I don’t understand why. I mean, I passed, but that’s about it

FEATHERS: Uhm, we’re studying very different things, I’m not sure what you hope to get from me

SQUIRREL: Hey, you mentioned tons of history and techniques and art movement characteristics and background you had to learn by heart

FEATHERS: Yeah, but I’ve always had to make an effort, because y’know… my head. If I don’t keep good notes, a schedule and a plan, it all goes to shit… it still goes to shit often enough, but that’s cause I am a goldfish

SQUIRREL: You are not a goldfish, Feathers. You remember everything I seem to tell you.

SQUIRREL: But your system helps you make it… better than I do. Your grades were stupid good

FEATHERS: Yah, and I’m pretty sure I’m close to zombiehood because of it, I’m dead tired

SQUIRREL: Am I keeping you up?

FEATHERS: Even if you are, it’s only for a good cause

SQUIRREL: How is that portfolio coming along?

FEATHERS: I’m having trouble focusing on one subject, which surprises exactly no one

SQUIRREL: Maybe forest critters? Cause you know, it all started with a squirrel? ;)

FEATHERS: I’ll think about it. Don’t change the subject

He groaned at Feathers’ insistence, even though his adamancy to help warmed him. 

SQUIRREL: Feathersssss, this is frustrating, I’d rather not deal with it, but… I don’t know what I’m doing wrong

FEATHERS: Uhh… nothing, I think? I mean, I know you studied

FEATHERS: I also know you’ve been skipping, but you’re smart enough to be able to afford that

SQUIRREL: Yep. So why are they dropping?

FEATHERS: You never had to study hard before, did you?

SQUIRREL: *shrug* Nope

FEATHERS: Maybe you need a plan

SQUIRREL: … I don’t like where this is going

FEATHERS: I can help

SQUIRREL: I knew you could… but can’t this just cooperate the way it always has?

FEATHERS: Heh, that’s maybe too easy and the stuff you’re learning is decidedly not easy

SQUIRREL: they’re just numbers and equations

FEATHERS: It might have to do with the amount and the complexity of what you have to process. There’s a vast difference between high school math and your math now

SQUIRREL: But I like easy! If it wasn’t for the fact that I picked up all my stuff in class, I wouldn’t have been able to spend as much time online

SQUIRREL: I like being holed up in my room, but not for that!

FEATHERS: Don’t worry, it’s just a system you gotta learn. If anything, with your smarts, it’ll make you even faster on the uptake

SQUIRREL: You literally just said it still goes to shit often enough for you

FEATHERS: Yeah, for me, cause y’know, I’m me. You’re you, your brain works differently

SQUIRREL: Stop talking about yourself like your brain is broken

SQUIRREL: Uuugh, I hate this

FEATHERS: Well, your alternative is a school counsellor :p or your parents or your brother! Didn’t you say he was very clever?

SQUIRREL: He is but… O.O *glomps* nope, nu-uh

FEATHERS: That’s what I thought :)

FEATHERS: Want me to send you some of the schedules I use? And summary systems?

SQUIRREL: *groans* fiiiiiine

FEATHERS: You’re so dramatic :)

SQUIRREL: Dude, how would you feel if stuff that used to come naturally suddenly doesn’t anymore?

FEATHERS: I got you, okay?

FEATHERS: Which incidentally my dad would find entirely ironic, all things considered. Hell, I find it ironic

SQUIRREL: Yeah, well, your father isn’t here and even if he was, I don’t give a rat’s ass about his homophobic opinion

FEATHERS: Oh, eat something sweet, you’re being bitey

Dean pouted at the screen, rubbing a hand through his hair as he closed his eyes. He opened his drawer, finding a Snickers and Lion bar inside, not knowing which one to choose.

SQUIRREL: I will, but I want a hug

FEATHERS: Squirrel, you’re something… *hugs*

SQUIRREL: Thanks for helping, Feathers

FEATHERS: Uh-uh

SQUIRREL: Speaking of phobias, I assume father dear still doesn’t know?

FEATHERS: Fuck no

FEATHERS: Okay, I sent them over ICQ

SQUIRREL: Thanks

SQUIRREL: How goes that modern art class by the way?

FEATHERS: Oh, jeez, I’m definitely on the fence

SQUIRREL: How so?

FEATHERS: I’ve never been fond of it, but that’s partly because my father believes modern art betrays old values and traditions, so I’m not sure where I land on it

FEATHERS: I mean, some of that stuff is hideous

SQUIRREL: Lol, yeah, I gathered. More of an impressionism, magic realism fan myself

FEATHERS: Exactly, stuff that speaks to my imagination

SQUIRREL: Nothing wrong with giving it a try and concluding it’s not for you

FEATHERS: Except if that has to do with someone else’s values overriding my own. I feel I’m potentially missing out on half the menu and when it comes to art… I dunno

SQUIRREL: … fair point if you put it like that. You got anything to share? We could have a look together, see if it sparks anything

FEATHERS: Hold on, let me look up some stuff online

SQUIRREL: Sure thing

He re-read the last bit of the conversation, while waiting and frowned. There was something there, something of importance, but he wasn’t sure what it was. With a shrug, he pulled both candy bars out of his drawer and wolfed half of each down, as the files came in over ICQ.


	19. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean.”
> 
> “I’m here, Cas.”
> 
> “This might sound cruel, but is there any chance I could kiss you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas is unknowingly making up for some of the stuff Dean put him through.

**London, 2014**

Cas eventually fell asleep in his arms. His wings were perched on the same chair his holster was hanging on, outlined against the light still on in Charlie’s room. In said light, he was pretty sure he saw Gabriel standing _real_ close to Sam, but his brain was sluggish, so who knew? He shut his eyes, surrendering to his other senses, touch and scent, as he turned slightly and inhaled Cas, whose scent still carried the remnants of the shower he’d had before the party, of his cologne and of something deeper than surface-level… it didn’t take long for him to pass out.

Dean had no idea what time it was, when the mattress moved. Spontaneously, he held onto the warm body next to him, no doubt in his mind who it was despite the brain fog. He knew and smiled at the soft yelp when his hand slipped under Cas’ shirt. He let out a soft huff, to alert Cas he was awake, but Cas pressed closer instead of pulling away, his breath warm and moist on his collarbone.

He pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re leaving?” he muttered into Cas’ hairline.

Cas nuzzled his neck, sending a tingly trail across his skin, raising something from the dead of sleep. “Not yet,” he whispered. “But soon, I guess.”

“Do you have to?”

A soft hitch in his breath and Dean allowed himself a sad smile, eyes open and staring up into the dark. The light in Charlie’s room was out.

Cas’ voice was unsteady when he spoke. They were past that part of pretending at least. “Booked cruise… Cats.”

“Cats?”

“My cats. Buzz and Bee. They need me.”

Dean snickered softly, sharing the sentiment with the felines. “I’m sure they do.”

“Brothers.”

“I’m pretty sure I can convince _them_ to stay. Gabe is next door. I win.”

Cas puffed up his cheeks against his jaw. “Pictures or you don’t. Ocean.”

“The cruise?”

“No,” Cas muttered. “An ocean apart… I can’t…”

Long distance...

Letting out a long breath, Dean twisted the situation in his mind’s eye like a Rubik’s Cube. He’d never been good at those. As if death-glaring at it would solve the conundrum. He turned towards Cas and found his eyes on him, the whites of his eyes stark, like an animal caught in headlights. He shook his head, squeezing Cas closer.

“Ah... Cas, don’t look so frightened, honey, I’m not going to keep you here against your will.”

The term of endearment slipped out again and Dean looked away, biting his lip. He felt Cas’ chest press into his side with each breath and the intimacy of it filled empty spaces he’d been unaware of. He’d ignored them with the skill of a practised self-delusionist. Like a warped magic trick.

The silence was heavy and he scrambled to find the words, putting things together that had been swirling in his mind for the past hours. Only hours… but damn, if Cas didn’t turn him inside out in the best possible ways. And yet… he had trouble breathing. He knew it was important to voice something, to let Cas know he understood, even if he didn’t have facts.

“Look, I don’t know what happened to you, Cas, and I know you gotta go… Sometimes you just meet people, out of the blue, and you know in your heart they’re important.”

Cas’ hand landed on his chest, over his hammering heart, tugging at the necklace, as he continued talking, turning his face towards him. His gaze dropped to Cas’ shoulder.

“You don’t understand why, but you do know the timing isn't perfect… So I’m not going to stop you from doing what you gotta do.”

He forced himself to look at Cas, curious to see what effect his words were having and found a deep frown marring Cas’ forehead, his blue eyes moist, corners of his mouth turned down. Guilt? Or sadness? Dean scoffed a soft smile, putting a hand to Cas’ cheek, his thumb lightly caressing his scruff and daring to trace his bottom lip. Cas’ tongue peeking out between his teeth was distracting enough, but bliss all the same.

“Yeah, I can tell you’re on a mission of sorts. Not sure which one, but I hope you find what you need. And if that means these hours are all I get to spend with you as part of that quest, it’s enough.”

At seeing Cas’ expression shift, softening in disbelief, Dean pursed his lips and rolled his eyes.

“Fine, it isn’t quite… but I’ll live. Luck comes in many forms, right?”

The next second, the air was being squeezed out of him, Cas’ strength taking him entirely by surprise.

*

Castiel threw his arms around Dean, clutching onto him with all his might and the reassuring circle of Dean’s arms came around him in a heartbeat, his breath warm in Castiel’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Because this was too much. How could he say anything else in the face of Dean’s incredible kindness? Those perfect words. This perfect stranger, who seemed to understand him in ways he never thought to find again. The honesty in his expression, even in the dark of night.

Dean was like a raw nerve, humming at a frequency that sidled up alongside his own, in a way that was almost obscene… but if it hadn’t, they wouldn’t be locked in this embrace, nor in this oddly respectful dance. Perhaps it had a touch of the dance macabre to it, but that was only because he knew he could never be enough for someone like Dean. Whatever Dean thought he saw in Cas, he would not be able to live up to it.

“Don’t be sorry, Cas. This is more than I had before and it’s going straight to my memory vault.”

Castiel worried his lip, caught between his head and his heart, and something nagged at him at those words. His frustration at his lack of eloquence got the better of him. “I suck with words, Dean. I’m better with art. I’d make my point if I could paint you.”

Dean’s chest rose rapidly and the hunger in his eyes triggered Cas into a smile. He hadn’t painted many live models in his life, but yes, there was a beautiful intimacy to those hours. Something Dean seemed to understand intuitively.

“When you get my number, you can send me something,” Dean whispered, a soft tease to his voice. “Soothe my aching heart.”

Voice trembling, Cas pressed closer yet, wanting to melt together. “Don’t make this fucking worse.”

Dean chuckled in the dark, wrapping his arms back around him and the covetous part of Castiel reared its head. Nothing life-altering. Nothing earth-shattering. His heart was already quivering under the effects of Dean, what worse could happen? Hands shaking like he was sixteen all over again, he sought out Dean’s face in the dark. Gently, he explored his features, tracing his lips, cheekbones, putting tender pressure above his eyebrows and carded his fingers through his hair. Promptly decided his fingers would live there for a while, when he heard the soft whimper falling from Dean’s lips.

Somewhere along those explorations, Dean kissed the inside of his wrist in a gesture that unlocked something deep within and the ghost of a daydream slipped out, unfurling its translucent wings.

“Dean.”

“I’m here, Cas.”

“This might sound cruel, but is there any chance I could kiss you?”

Dean’s laughter was a low rumble, with a distinctly pleased hum to it and Castiel smiled, because the answer was in it, along with a sigh and his weight shifting so they were nose to nose. Dean crowded into him just right, the strength of his hands solid. His breath was warm on his lips, when he spoke, a touch of cocky to the way he held his head.

“Thought you’d never ask. Straight to the vault, Cas. Go for it. I want to have all you’re willing to give and I’ll give all I can in return.”

Huffing at the obvious bluster, Castiel tilted his head, so his lips almost grazed Dean’s and saw the softer side bleed through when Dean’s chest heaved, lips parted. His eyes became nothing but raw emotion. An emotion Castiel was scared to label, but dying to bask in. Castiel’s heart made a valiant effort to take off out of his chest, aiming straight for the stars scattered across the heavens, when Dean licked his lips, inched closer and waited.

He took in the outlined shadow of Dean’s messy hair, the planes of his shoulders and felt everything that had loosened up over the past hours just from being in Dean’s presence. Dean’s eyes flicked from Castiel’ to his lips and back, and something in them made his insides churn wildly. Castiel craned his neck the slightest bit, wings finally fluttering free as he kissed Dean.

It was a gentle and warm melting together of their lips at first. Soft and explorative, ginger, almost, for all the build-up. Dean wrapped one arm behind Castiel’s neck, his hand on his shoulder, the other around his waist, pulling them together in a move that had pins and needles dancing across his whole body. His insides swirled insanely. Castiel slid an arm under Dean’s, fumbling with the waistcoat, as he tried to find access but failed. So he let the other hand roam and undo buttons, earning a chuckled groan for his efforts and damn, if he didn’t want to hear more of that.

What was slow and gentle grew insistent and stronger, Cas’ breath ramping up along with Dean’s. Dean shifted minutely, pushing Castiel onto his back and freeing up his arm. He gratefully used the space to push the waistcoat aside and slide both hands under Dean’s shirt, letting out a groaned sigh as Dean’s weight settled down on him.

A soft lick at his bottom lip sent tingles across his skin and Castiel opened up with such ease it had a part of his mind tilting its head in wonder. When and how and… he didn’t care, well past the point of no return, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, the morning be damned. Castiel surrendered to it all, to everything Dean was offering, as he folded open under Dean’s tender requests.

There was a heat, slow and simmering, that uncoiled as he moaned into him, tasted him, his tongue exploring his mouth. Castiel gripped tighter, when his mind seemed to catch on fire along with his blood. A low whimper escaped him. The headiness caught him by surprise, but Dean responded to it, intuitive, eager, deepening their kiss and Castiel sank into the mattress and the moment. He rolled his hips when he felt the hardness of Dean’s dick press into his thigh, reveling in the effect as Dean broke away panting. He pressed his forehead to Cas, audibly winded.

Trusting Dean implicitly, Castiel found they lingered in this moment, of endlessly making out. Sure… they wandered, those kisses, from his lips to his jawline, to his neck, his collarbones and chest. Dean’s warm tongue, splayed wide on his skin, left slowly building marks, if the sting of some of those kisses was anything to go by. Hands wandered. _Tremendously_. 

It had him whimpering and arching into the ministrations, every caress, every touch rearranging pieces of his soul. There were gaps, emptinesses he’d collected over the years. With every kiss, every deepening, feeling Dean’s weight, hands tracing him like he was a coveted piece of art, Castiel felt more whole. He dared not imagine what tomorrow would look like. Not after this.

With soft insistence, he got Dean out of his shirt and forgot how to breathe when he caught sight of the tattooed wings on his shoulder blades. He urged him down to the mattress, so he could _see_. Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s shoulder, lost in the intricacies of the art and it took him a while before he moved, kissing his way across the feathers, across his skin, Dean patiently waiting it out, holding beautifully still under Castiel’s touch.

It was with genuine abandon that he set about exploring Dean… A gentle nudge, so he laid down onto his back. Dean, who turned out to be extremely responsive to his every touch, and moaned soft, warm sounds in the dark of ‘more’ and ‘Cas’ and a myriad of fond curses to both Heaven and Hell that had Cas smiling against his skin. Dean whose hands were either in his hair or falling wide in abandon. Dean, whose hips rolled into Castiel’s, both of them in search of friction, yet neither in a hurry to go beyond. It threatened to send Castiel’s mind elsewhere, if it wasn’t all so terrifyingly grounding and earthly. 

Dean huffed at him, when Castiel discovered how soft he was in certain places. When Castiel made to kiss around his belly button and down his golden treasure trail, Dean gave a warning growl. The sensuous sound of it jolted through him. Curious Castiel looked up and when Dean cast his eyes around the room, he remembered. Not alone.

 _Curses_.

Wanting to respect the signal, because it was the only sensible thing to do, Castiel nevertheless pouted up at him. The challenging arch in Dean’s left eyebrow made him narrow his eyes. Just because he could, Castiel mouthed over Dean’s dick hidden from sight under the offensive pants, breathing hot air into the fabric. Dean arched into him, stifling a filthy moan. He kept it up for a few minutes, until he heard Dean was starting to lose control over his volume.

More than pleased with himself, Castiel made to kiss his way back up, but was held back by Dean’s fingers fisting in his hair. The sting of it made him look up at Dean, finding him debauched. His needy, stormy eyes tried to scold him mutely. Castiel smirked when he only half-succeeded, but his breath stuttered when he caught something else. Something that was beyond words, but not beyond art. He knew that gaze…

The whisper was explosive and hot. “Holy Hell, Cas, you’re perfection. Hold still for a second, will you?”

Cheeks burning at the praise, Castiel obliged, unsure what it was, he held still where he was… looking at Dean across his gorgeous pudge, seeing emotions flit across his features. Desire. Surrender. Captivation. A few words, and yet never the right one. Just like that, he found himself taking mental snapshots, aware Dean was likely doing the same. He realised he’d been doing it all night. To complement the few pictures he’d taken. Mentally capturing Dean, the details of him. The crinkles at his eyes when he smiled, the colour of them. He already knew he’d try to capture those on paper and fail endlessly. The dimples. The way his eyebrows could convey a whole mood without saying a word.

The way he held himself with smooth confidence, but ducked his head when his words caught on something he didn’t mean to. The way he moved around his brother and friends, clearly at the center of them, yet blissfully unaware of his own gravitational force, of how he put people at ease. The way he behaved around Castiel, as if he was the eighth wonder of the Ancient World and at the same time so deeply human. So of course there had to be an ocean between them. And Castiel knew he had to go.

Dean tugged at him and, caught in the prospect of another thoroughly good kissing, Castiel slowly moved up until they slotted back together.

“Dean,” he said on an exhale, as he crawled close enough to feel as much of Dean’s skin as he could.

Dean captured his lips and Castiel whimpered into his mouth, clutching on to him. He wanted more. So much more. To remember.

He knew he was lost, but decided it was the good kind of lost. The kind that opened up new horizons, because you’d travelled beyond the edges of the map. He yearned for it to be mutual. In the way Dean surrendered to this, Castiel held out hope that he wasn’t being entirely selfish. A gift from the universe. A memory for the vault, as Dean had called it. And he wouldn’t stick around long enough for Dean to uncover his damage. To break the spell.

He wasn’t sure how long they spent like that, lost in each other, but eventually fatigue was replaced with exhaustion and time slipped between kisses. As it would between them. The next moment he was awake, Castiel knew he would be leaving. A fact that had him second-guessing all his boundaries. He buried his face in Dean’s neck as they settled back under the sheets.

Dean couldn’t stop planting soft kisses on every inch of skin he got his lips on, drawing giggles from Castiel. He allowed his hand to travel the planes of his chest, down his ribs, searching for soft spots in the hopes that time wouldn’t erase them. His heart constricted at the warmest, softest kiss Dean wrapped him up in yet. Castiel felt the tear trickle down from the corner of his eye. Maybe Dean wouldn’t notice.

He mumbled blind into Dean’s lips. “Don’t wake up when you feel me leave, okay?”

“Why not?” His fingers were splayed on his cheeks.The way they wiped at the wet trail, Dean noticed, but held his tongue and simply placed a soft kiss on the damp patch of skin.

“Because I don’t think I’m going to be able to if you’re awake… If I see…”

A quiet moment in which he listened to Dean’s heartbeat and breathing. “Yeah, okay, Cas.”

His heart thundering, he wondered if he could surrender to sleep, but with Dean’s steady heart beating in his ears it was a matter of seconds, before he drifted off with a sigh.

There were no dreams, chasing him down.


	20. Texas - 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FEATHERS: The fucking brakes are off, aren’t they?
> 
> SQUIRREL: Maybe, and maybe it’s about fucking time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost. Allllllmost.

**Texas, 2001**

Castiel decided he wanted to take a chance. To sate his curiosity and maybe to give himself something to work on for his next art project. By now he’d heard Squirrel’s singing voice so often, he could almost hear him when reading what he typed. Over the years it had dropped in timbre significantly, which made him feel a certain type of way on the regular, but he’d resigned himself to that. He wanted something more. At heart, Castiel was a visual being. A tactile creature too with the right people, but that was neither here nor there.

FEATHERS: Hey, Squirrel, I been meaning to ask, maybe kinda weird, but what do you look like?

SQUIRREL: You askin’ me what I’m wearing, Feathers?

FEATHERS: Yeah, baby, that’s exactly what I’m asking

FEATHERS: Or alternatively, never you fucking mind, you assbutt :p

SQUIRREL: LOL what you wanna know?

FEATHERS: Just curious, I suppose. It has been 7 years

SQUIRREL: Go for it

FEATHERS: How would you describe yourself?

SQUIRREL: Uhh, green eyes, brown hair, freckles and a penchant for lion bars

FEATHERS: Brown hair?

SQUIRREL: Yeh. Why?

FEATHERS: I don’t know. I guess I’ve been picturing you as a dark one like your dad

SQUIRREL: Hah, nope :)

FEATHERS: Why mention the sweets, I knew that. You hungry?

SQUIRREL: Always hungry

FEATHERS: Of course :) *stuffs your face*

SQUIRREL: Force feeding me?

FEATHERS: Lovingly?

SQUIRREL: Sure, why not :D

FEATHERS: So……. Don’t tell me you ain’t curious?

SQUIRREL: I like you, regardless, man, but tell me. Visuals are always good ;)

FEATHERS: Smooth

SQUIRREL: Come onnnn then, spill, bet you’re ten ways to handsome and beyond

Squirrel’s enthusiasm was not what he’d counted on. Not wanting to miss any chances, he barreled onward, before his friend came to his senses. It felt familiar and disturbing exactly in its familiarity, because this was not the first time. Not the first time Squirrel played along. Not the first time Castiel leaned into it. There was a saying that if you kept doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different outcome… you were an idiot, right?

Color him an idiot.

FEATHERS: Black hair, blue eyes, tanned. Dress code?

SQUIRREL: Uhhhh, lumberjack?

FEATHERS: LOL

The conversation fell flat on its ass, because for a while Castiel could only laugh. A freckled lumberjack? What?

FEATHERS: I am sorry, I am dying, but srsly?

SQUIRREL: Not entirely, I guess. Leather jackets, jeans, t-shirt. But I like plaid. I’m a simple man. You?

SQUIRREL: Never mind, I actually kinda know

FEATHERS: Do tell

SQUIRREL: Punk hippie

FEATHERS: You never stop being punk :) though I’ve toned down on the goth angle since my teenage years. I smiled too much to be convincing anyway

SQUIRREL: Awww, a cheerful goth. How adorable.

SQUIRREL: Cause we’re ancient now, yeah

FEATHERS: No, but it’s been a few years. Shortbread?

SQUIRREL: Fatten the beast, sure

FEATHERS: I mean short or tall, you flufftail

SQUIRREL: :) Your insults are getting worse every year. Six foot, I think? You?

FEATHERS: Five eleven, give or take

SQUIRREL: Huh..

FEATHERS: What?

SQUIRREL: Nuttin’

FEATHERS: Come on, I can tell

SQUIRREL: You always can, bloody hell

FEATHERS: Please? *makes blue puppy eyes*

SQUIRREL: Really?

FEATHERS: Oh yeah and they usually work too, though I see how this medium might fuck that up

SQUIRREL: Surprisingly not really and I regret not seeing them for real

Throwing caution to the wind, Castiel’s breath hitched and he threw in his response before he could cock-block himself.

FEATHERS: Is that a flirtation?

SQUIRREL: A “flirtation”? You are something

Castiel waited it out, his inner brat smirking its ass off, until he read the follow-up. Well, he kinda knew the angle he’d started this conversation on. He just hadn’t expected Squirrel to rise to the occasion.

SQUIRREL: So what if it was? You asked about my looks and we’ve been flirting for…

FEATHERS: Forever :) with a hiccup here and there

Every push that wasn’t met with a shove had his heart kicking it up a notch… and hope soared along with it.

FEATHERS: I did ask, yeah

SQUIRREL: With anything specific in mind?

Oh, maybe. This suddenly felt like hot water. Yes, yes, very much with something specific in mind, but abruptly, Castiel wasn’t sure he could type it out without coming off as weirder than usual. And Squirrel was throwing him for a loop.

SQUIRREL: I’m here, Feathers, don’t disappear on me

FEATHERS: Maybe

He grunted at himself.

“Time to take the leap, Novak, or you’ll never see the end of this.”

FEATHERS: If you gotta ask, your brain went there too

FEATHERS: I think of you a lot lately. Well, altogether, which feels kinda redundant typing it out, but here we are

Shit. Squirrel kept his silence and that just sent his nerves singing. Bad. His gut twisted into knots. He kept typing, panic rising.

FEATHERS: Squirrel? You’re making me nervous. If this is gonna blow up in my face… you’re the one who always said he didn’t swing that way, but considering what we’ve gotten up to, you see why this is confusing and scary

SQUIRREL: I may have not been entirely straight about that

Castiel took a few deep breaths and smirked when he typed his reply.

FEATHERS: Pun intended?

SQUIRREL: Fuck you, but yes

FEATHERS: So what is it? :)

SQUIRREL: You’re gonna make me say it

FEATHERS: Considering the turn this convo took and the way my brain is going into overdrive, fucking YES

SQUIRREL: You really have no filter or chill. I keep telling you you gotta be more careful

FEATHERS: Careful shmareful. Spill

SQUIRREL: Alright, alright, I’m bi, okay?! I haven’t told anyone, because I can barely wrap my head around it, but this… just… YOU… it’s the realest feeling I’ve ever had

FEATHERS: What about me? You’re blaming me?

SQUIRREL: I am not blaming you, it’s just…

Castiel wanted to get this part over with, the part where Squirrel thought he needed to explain it to him, like he hadn’t caught on years ago, but held his tongue, because… well, because Squirrel was a bit of a dumbass, despite being really smart.

FEATHERS: Remember two years ago? With Cassie?

SQUIRREL: Uhhh…

FEATHERS: That “rumor”?

SQUIRREL: Oh, that… yeah

FEATHERS: I’ve had an inkling since then

SQUIRREL: And you didn’t say?

FEATHERS: Well, you told me to back off and I told you I was there if you wanted to talk about it. Why would I call you out? It’s one of the shittiest things to do to a person and you made it plenty clear on several occasions you didn’t want to…

SQUIRREL: Yeah, I know

SQUIRREL: I don’t know, man, it’s still a good mess in my own head, even if I’ve known for a while. I’ve been struggling with trying to make up my mind one way or the other, until I realized that it could be both…

FEATHERS: Ain’t that lovely?

FEATHERS: Welcome to the club, our special is existential angst, all day, every day

SQUIRREL: Hilarious. Please tell me that gets better

FEATHERS: It does actually. So it was true? The rumor?

SQUIRREL: Obviously

Castiel scrunched up his face at the screen, massively annoyed. He’d called dibs first, as far as he was concerned, but it still annoyed the hell out of him knowing some other guy got the goods.

SQUIRREL: I just realized

FEATHERS: Yeah?

SQUIRREL: Aside from my blood-relatives, you’re the longest running relationship I have

Oh. Castiel swallowed around the lump in his throat, his jealousy dissipating like mist, humming softly to himself to soothe his nerves. One of Squirrel’s songs, he registered.

FEATHERS: … relationship?

SQUIRREL: What else you wanna call this? Long distance, friendship, you tell me, but whatever it is, it’s been the most stable aspect of my life, aside from my family

He entered a string of smileys, because his brain short-circuited. Hearts, kissy faces, more hearts, a few confusing ones and anything else that oozed happiness. Castiel used emoticons more than Squirrel did, but even for him, this was a bit much. The admission also made his annoyance melt away.

SQUIRREL: Lol what

FEATHERS: I don’t know, but it makes me stupid happy. My words are failing

SQUIRREL: … *smiles*

FEATHERS: … yeah

SQUIRREL: Yeah, what?

FEATHERS: I dunno, I am just sitting here, smiling and my cheeks are warm

SQUIRREL: Is that all that’s warm?

The words were enough to heat him up further. No. Not all. Fucking hell, Squirrel was a massive tease.

FEATHERS: You have no shame

SQUIRREL: On here, not much no

SQUIRREL: And irl not that much either I guess

FEATHERS: Same for rl I’m sure

SQUIRREL: Plus I’ve known you for too long to pretend, it’s a losing battle really

FEATHERS: Uhuh… SMILEY HEART

SQUIRREL: Feathers?

FEATHERS: Yeah?

SQUIRREL: Wanna meet up?

FEATHERS: Irl?

SQUIRREL: I’m done being an idiot. A video chat for starters, if we can set that up… but I dunno, I kinda want to hear your voice, see your face, anything past these words we’re typing

FEATHERS: Why?

SQUIRREL: For the same reason we both wanna know what the other looks like and we’ve flirted for forever and spent countless times masturbating to each other

Castiel felt his chest heat up with the sudden rush of blood, his dick twitching at the words and memories.

FEATHERS: Oh boy

SQUIRREL: What?

FEATHERS: The fucking brakes are off, aren’t they?

SQUIRREL: Maybe, and maybe it’s about fucking time

FEATHERS: It feels like my heart is going to burst out of me

SQUIRREL: I can’t stop smiling. What have you done to me?

FEATHERS: Me? How dare you?

SQUIRREL: … So what do you say?

FEATHERS: You’re not gonna back out again, are you?

SQUIRREL: No… I’m lots of things, but once my mind is made up… I follow through

FEATHERS: Good, because I’m done relying on my imagination

SQUIRREL: … shiiit

FEATHERS: So yes, please. I’d like to meet up

SQUIRREL: Awesome. When are you home alone or, y’know, dad not in?

FEATHERS: Friday. Dad is working the late shift, sis is in but she’s usually in her room and my brothers are headed to a party. So I can check in after dinner easily

SQUIRREL: Okay. Let’s do this

FEATHERS: Yes, let’s..

SQUIRREL: I gotta get some sleep tho

FEATHERS: That’s okay, I think I can get through the rest of my night with a smile on my face

SQUIRREL: Proverbial pillow stuffing helps here

FEATHERS: See you in a bit, Squirrel

SQUIRREL: See you in a bit, Feathers

Castiel let out an inhumanly happy sound as he danced out of the chair, knocking it over, but he couldn’t care less.


	21. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sock. And.. I went to say goodbye to Dean. Sorta. Where were you?”
> 
> “Calling down the hall, Sam’s asleep. Everyone’s asleep. I got a hold of our very disgruntled Luci. He’s waiting in a taxi with the suitcases, so let’s get a move on, Feathers, the plane ain’t going to wait.”
> 
> Dean was caught in the limbo plane of existence between sleep and consciousness. The memories of the past hours were like blurred lines of poetry, shimmering before his mind’s eye, which made it all trickle through too slow, like thick syrup. It took one too many ticks of the clock. Dean’s eyes flew open, when it finally did.
> 
> “Feathers?” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allllllmost! (I'm repeating myself, I know.)

**London, 2014**

Dean felt the mattress shift when Cas left. There was an instant chill in his bones, not just because of Cas’ body heat falling away. But he kept his word. For Cas’ sake as much as his own at this point. He feigned sleep, while Cas moved about, muttering as he tried to recover all scattered items of clothing. It was a semi-sleep, all in all, his exhausted brain requesting he return to the Land of Nod, but he didn’t want to. Not fully. He wanted to catch every sound, soak up the last of this surreal chain of events they had stolen away.

There was no point dragging this out further, if he was hell-bent on leaving. In this moment, he realised it would be hard enough to face the morning. Probably for the best with an ocean between them. Right? His heart missed a few beats, it physically hurt. He pressed his hand into his chest trying to ease it, but it went beyond skin-deep. Dean heard the flutter of wings being picked up, then the sound of Gabriel’s voice cutting through the dawn.

“Where’s Luci?”

“You tell me, Gabe, he ain’t in bed with you and Sam?”

Dean smiled in the dark.

“Eww, don’t be nasty. No.”

“Well, call him then. I can’t find my other sock.”

He listened to Cas mucking about some more, putting on his shoes and tiptoeing his way towards the door. There was a thud and a groan when he bonked into one of the various sleeping piles. His heart sped up, when he heard furtive footsteps return. The next second, Cas pressed a kiss to his lips, which on instinct he returned, skin burning at this ‘last’. No last words, thankfully, though he could feel Cas hovering above him.

He almost opened his eyes, almost, when he felt the gust of air and the tilt of the mattress and Cas removed himself once more.

The door to his room opened, but didn’t close. Under the weight of his aching heart, Dean sighed, rolled to the side Cas had been sleeping on and tried to sink deeper, away from reality, lest he do something stupid or unwanted. The hushed voices at his door barely registered through the fog of screwed consciousness.

“Cassie, where were you?”

“Sock. And.. I went to say goodbye to Dean. Sorta. Where were you?”

“Calling down the hall, Sam’s asleep. Everyone’s asleep. I got a hold of our very disgruntled Luci. He’s waiting in a taxi with the suitcases, so let’s get a move on, _Feathers_ , the plane ain’t going to wait.”

Dean was caught in the limbo plane of existence between sleep and consciousness. The memories of the past hours were like blurred lines of poetry, shimmering before his mind’s eye, which made it all trickle through too slow, like thick syrup. It took one too many ticks of the clock. Dean’s eyes flew open, when it finally did.

“Feathers?” he whispered.

He stumbled out of the bed. Stepped into his boots barefoot and over several of the sleepovers, hopefully without kicking anyone in the face. Ran down the corridor. Almost tripping himself up, he cursed vehemently as he was forced to tie his laces. Sloppily. Too slow. Besides an occasional stray hotel guest, the halls were as good as empty. He barrelled down them. Clicked the elevator button like a madman until he growled in angry frustration and thundered down the stairs. He was dimly aware of himself repeating his name over and over. 

Had he misheard?

Black hair. Blue eyes. Wings. Art. Brothers. US. Feathers. Shortbread.

“Nononononono,” he muttered, his peripheral vision blurring.

At the ground floor, he made a frantic beeline for the front of the ExCel, slamming through the side door onto the plaza, the cold morning air hitting his chest and sending goosebumps skittering. He saw the taxi drive away, Cas looking at him through the back window, confusion clear.

“Feathers,” Dean muttered on an exhale.

He pressed his palms to his temples, his world slowly tilting into full-blown, disbelieving panic. Before the taxi turned the corner, Cas sent him a little, nonplussed wave.


	22. 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I swear if this guy is a freak, Dean,” Charlie started.
> 
> “After seven years? There have been zero inconsistencies and nothing but genuine connection.”
> 
> Charlie scrunched up her face, like she was sucking on a lemon, and gave the smallest shake of her head. “Sap. I wish you’d let us be there.”
> 
> “Not bloody likely, darlin’. He’s mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope.

**Texas, 2001**

Anna flashed her eyes at him from the couch and Castiel tried, so hard, to stop fidgeting or ruining dinner and dessert. He’d forgotten it was Gabriel’s birthday dinner, _not a party_ , and that messed up his plans. Luckily their father was working a late shift, which hopefully meant he could sneak out.

With Lucifer out working until six, it all came down to him and Anna. Between the two of them, one relegated to the bed or couch permanently and Castiel’s brain in different stratospheres, it was a genuine challenge to get anything done.

“Focus, Cassie!”

“I’m trying,” he snapped.

She continued giving him directions for both dishes they had going, which was a stretch. Castiel had trouble focusing on one thing at a time, let alone two dishes, decorations, putting out presents and keeping his mind from veering off course towards Squirrel.

Later, he promised himself vehemently. Later. Squirrel would wait for him.

“What has you so distracted?”

He wiped at his face, smearing batter into his scruff, and looked at Anna across the distance.

“Squirrel. I’m meeting him later.”

“You are?” There was a tightness to her tone he hadn’t expected, but then she hadn’t fully been herself lately.

“Over video phone,” he nuanced. “He’s in England, remember?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “So why is that so important?”

Tongue-tied, Castiel focused on pouring the batter into the cake tin, trying to think of a way to say this. Except there were no plural ways to do so. Sometimes it just is what it is.

“Cause I think I love him.”

“But isn’t he a guy?”

He pulled the bowl of apple slices closer and started laying them out across the top in delicate patterns as best he could.

“He is,” he amended. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I’m not sure… but I know God does.”

His hands froze in the midst of his work, his throat constricting. She was spending too much time with their father at the Church… Ever since she’d stagnated instead of improved, they seemed to think that spending time in a church or with fellow believers upped her chances of recovery. It meant she was subject to their nonsense a lot more than before. This was the first time she so blatantly said it, but he’d noticed small changes in the past months.

In her bossiness, she was still very much his sister. Same for how she cared about Gabriel’s birthday. But this… this insidious venom was new.

Castiel shook his head and finished, popping the last few slices in his mouth. He opened the oven, squinting at the heat that wafted out, and slid the cake and pie inside.

“Double-check the timer,” Anna said. “You always forget.”

No lie, he thought, but found he didn’t have a voice to reply. She seemed to have slipped past the moment and returned to the tasks at hand. Which was perhaps for the best.

*

**London, 2001**

Sam made an exaggerated display of a fake coughing fit and waved a hand in front of his nose. “You are aware he won’t be able to smell you across the ocean, right? Though I’m sure our neighbors across the street can.”

“I know you’re trying to needle me, Sammy, but you know what? It isn’t going to work.” Dean opened his arms in a playful ‘come at me, bro’ gesture and Sam scoffed.

“That’s what I thought,” Dean nodded.

“I guess it’s kinda adorable,” Sam admitted.

“I swear if this guy is a freak, Dean,” Charlie started.

“After seven years? There have been zero inconsistencies and nothing but genuine connection.”

Charlie scrunched up her face, like she was sucking on a lemon, and gave the smallest shake of her head. “Sap. I wish you’d let us be there.”

“Not bloody likely, darlin’. He’s mine.”

“Possessive, much?”

“It took us… well, me, I guess, long enough to get here. There is no way I am letting anyone in on our first face to face meeting.”

Charlie bit down on the inside of the corner of her mouth and gave a brief nod. “That has been a bit of a journey, huh?”

Dean snorted. “It feels like I’ve only just started it, but yes…”

“Welcome to the club,” Sam grinned.

It took a few ticks of the clock for the message to sink in and Dean swung around, almost knocking himself off balance. “Right! It’s all of us now.”

“Guess we’ll have to adopt if we don’t want the Winchester name to die out.”

“Bradbury, I’m a Bradbury. How many times I gotta say it?”

“You’re the kid sister I never wanted, Charlie, deal with it.”

“I feel so, so loved.”

Dean put his hands to his hips and eyed Sam up and down. “I’m pretty sure there’s a size kink market for you out there.”

“Like you have any experience with what’s out there,” Sam laughed. “You just hatched.”

“The Internet is a source of wisdom.”

Sam grimaced, which contrasted beautifully with Charlie’s look of ‘ehh, not wrong’ and Dean snickered.

“Now, didn’t you two have plans?”

“You are aware Mom’s going to be home by nine, yes?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll hang a sock on my door.”

“And yes, we’re going,” Charlie sighed. “But we’re on speed dial in case something goes wrong.”

Dean resisted the eye roll and waved her over for a hug. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. In fact, for the first time, it feels like things might be lining up.”

Charlie sneezed into his chest. “Oh, Jeez, you reek like you took a bath in this. What’s the point even?”

“Alright, both of you, out… Out.”

Dean wanted to stop smiling. Sam grinned as he stepped into his personal space for a hug, and he managed to get both of them out the door. He had no idea what they were up to, his available brain space clearly reduced to that of an actual Squirrel.

There was a permanent voice-over in his head, speaking in a low, soothing voice of ‘finally’ and ‘hope’ and ‘best friend’, to the tunes of one of the last songs he wrote for Feathers, with a slideshow of visuals of his art playing in his head like some warped documentary of the last 7 years. His heart hammered at all the turns the video call could take, many of which he wasn’t ashamed to admit ended in seeing skin and a happy ending.

A small part was nagging him about the void that was Feathers’ looks, yet strangely, surprisingly, he couldn’t linger on it. Instead, his face hurt, because of the random smiles, soft sounds he made at the prospect and the permanent state of giddy turmoil his insides were in.

Fuck. This. Romantic. Shit.

He hadn’t lied.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, it felt like things were coming up roses.


	23. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s going on here?” Benny yawned. His Jareth make-up was a mess and his hair stood on end.
> 
> “Feathers makes his glorious reappearance,” Charlie huffed, throwing her hands up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pining. That was my assignment. No apologies. Okay, maybe a little one.

**London, 2014**

Spotting Colt, a wild idea formed. He patted his pants down for keys he knew he didn’t have and started running back inside. When he got to their floor, he was met by Sam and Charlie.

“Dean! What the hell? We heard you running down the hall.”

“It’s him, Sammy, it’s him, I heard it.”

“Who’s who?” Charlie asked around a huge yawn. “And you stepped on me, darling.”

“Oh, gee, I am so sorry! Don’t you have a bed in the other room? It’s him! _Feathers_. Sonovabitch! I lost him again!”

“My bed was taken. What? Cas? Cas is Feathers?”

“Dean, just because the man wore wings…”

“I know it’s him, okay? I heard Gabe call him Feathers on the way out, but I was so fucking tired, it didn’t register! And now a lot of other things are lining up. FUCK!”

Sam’s hand gripped his lower arm, but Dean knocked him off, white hot anger threatening to boil over. “Dean, breathe for me, will you? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“Wait, hold on, we’re talking about Feathers Feathers? Feathers, we maintained a long distance relationship with each other for seven years, I write and sing songs for you while you make me beautiful, blatantly gay art, but we’re not together Feathers? Feathers who finally did say he had feelings for you and then fell off the damned face of the Internet Feathers?”

“Stop saying Feathers so much, Charlie. And I was the dumbass in denial, remember.”

“So?! Dean, he broke your heart! You were a mess for years.”

True. So true he could almost feel what it had been like again, the ground beneath his feet vanishing the way it had, leaving him adrift. It hadn’t been fair on anyone who followed in Feathers’ wake. Yet no one since had made him feel some kind of way as Feathers had.

“Charlie, it was him. There was something there as soon as we saw each other, alright, well beyond ‘yeah, he’s kinda cute’… I thought I was being a romantic idiot, because it felt so familiar. There was something about the way we talked about stuff, moved even, but now it makes sense. The art, the wings, the stories, the head in the clouds and the fucking _ease_. Shit, it was always so easy with him. Not to mention he’s probably the best kisser I’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing and that’s saying fucking something. I have to get his number. Are those volunteers still here?”

“It’s 6 in the fucking morning. You can’t go bother those people now.”

“Ha! Watch me.”

“At least put on a shirt! Shower maybe? Sam, what the hell? Is he on something?”

“I have an inkling what he’s on.”

“Shut up, Sammy. You were in bed with his brother.”

“Oh, really?” Charlie asked. “So that massive lump of limbs in my bed was you?”

“Shower. Shirt,” Sam snapped. “Get your head screwed on right. I’m sure we can fix this.”

Dean spoke slowly, enunciating every word with every ounce of frustration he was subject to. Maybe it was getting close to desperation, judging by the way Sam and Charlie were looking at him.

“I don’t have his full name. He is driving away to the airport. I don’t know his destination other than a cruise in the Mediterranean. So unless you got intel out of his brother…”

Pursing his lips, Sam looked away and back. He gave a curt shake of his head.

“And you can’t be entirely sure he’s Feathers either.”

“What’s going on here?” Benny yawned. His Jareth make-up was a mess and his hair stood on end.

“Feathers makes his glorious reappearance,” Charlie huffed, throwing her hands up.

“You have got to be kidding me? Where?”

“Cas! It was Cas, alright!” Dean said. “But he’s gone. To the airport.”

“Well, why’d you let him go?”

“You think I would have if I’d known?! I was too late to realise.”

“So you’re not sure?”

“He’s not.”

“I am sure. I heard his brother call him by the handle. What are the odds?”

“Exactly, what are the odds? Dean, brother, c’me here.” Dean heaved a sigh, noticed his hands were shaking, but allowed Benny to put an arm around him. “You can’t go chasing people like that, speaking from a security angle here. He’s the guy you met during speed dating, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine, then give it a few days and I’m sure you’ll have the information you want. You can take it from there.”

Dean realised there was no way he could make them understand. None of them. Yes, they’d all known Feathers, but none of them had ever really been there, through all those chats, all those times in their private channel, the ease and depth with which they’d interacted, even when things were awkward or difficult. He couldn’t blame them for that. He and Feathers had always kept to themselves in that respect, which provoked the teasing and innuendo. An innuendo not out of place. But that meant there was no way he could convey the urgency of the situation he was caught up in right now.

Dean looked over his shoulder at the only one who might. Sam.

His brother looked miserable. Also thoroughly kissed out with love marks to prove it. Despite himself, Dean grinned. Sam smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes and shook his head, giving him the ‘hush’ sign. Dean tuned out Benny’s speech, but caught enough of it to know he was right. A crazy race against time on Colt was not an option.

He’d have to trust Lady Luck once more.

After all, it looked like she’d landed Feathers back in his life...


	24. 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s face contorted. “So is this the part where you tell me you need me to step up?”
> 
> John’s dark eyes softened for the briefest moment. “All I need from you, Dean, is the promise that you’ll look after Sam while we’re away. That’s all your mom and I ask.”
> 
> Dean swallowed, unable to speak, scraping the food off the plate into the waste. He nodded, because that order he understood. 
> 
> “We need you to hold the course, son. There’s too much going on for anything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John isn't a complete dick. I was going for mildly domineering, which doesn't necessarily make it okay or better. Chuck might be a dick. Ahem.

**Texas, 2001**

With a deep sense of trepidation, Castiel looked back to the room they were treating his sister in. Only their father had been allowed in, but even he’d been ushered back out a few times. No one kept Chuck Novak out of a room he wanted to be in. So he parked his sons in the hallway and proceeded to bully every nurse and doctor until he got his way.

Gabriel cornered him near the vending machine, having lured Castiel there with the excuse that he ran out of small money and really needed something sweet to get through the family crisis.

“Gabe, you always eat sweets so unless you’re in a permanent crisis…?”

“Who’s to say I’m not? Shut up for a second, Cassie. You gotta head home.”

“Why? Anna’s in the middle of a seizure!”

“I don’t know what’s going on… I wish medical people could be clearer, but all I know for sure is she’s been babbling through her fever.”

“You weren’t supposed to be in there.”

Gabriel just made eyes at him, as he shoved coin after coin in the machine and got out an inordinate amount of candy bars. “What did you tell her?”

“What? I… nothing. I mean… I mentioned my date with Squirrel tonight.”

“Of course you did, cause your head is in the clouds even more. Hell, you’re likely headed for the moon. She told dad, you chucklefuck… Not on purpose, I guess, but all the same, I saw the expression on his face.”

“Did… Did you say anything?”

“Are you nuts? No. And no one reads me, but Anna… Cassie, she knows about your art and she mentioned… love songs?”

Castiel felt his skin try to withdraw from his muscles, his blood flooding to the fight or flight parts of his system. Yeah… He’d made cassettes of Squirrel’s songs. Labeled them. One may have had a heart drawn on it. He’d also made prints of his songs, stuff that wasn’t exactly out in the open in his room, but nothing a search by a clever, nosy sister who knew him wouldn’t reveal. And his art was everywhere, in every damn sketchbook.

“When the hell has she been snooping?”

“Any time in the past seven years?”

And then it finally caught up. “Shit, oh, no, shitshitshit.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Go home, delete and hide what you can.”

“I can’t just fuck off,” he hissed. “If Dad knows and I try to leave now… He’ll know.”

“Then ask Lucifer.”

“Like Dad’s gonna trust any of us.”

“We might be quite boned, yes.” Gabriel sounded cheerier than he ought to be, but the Mars bar bulging up his cheek might have to do with that.

Castiel sighed heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “Well… I’ll see you in Hell.”

“We’re not gonna get incinerated on the spot.”

“No, I meant at home.”

“Oh. Well, then, yeah, at least we’ll know each other, right?”

“Thanks for the head’s up, Gabe. And happy birthday…There’s a shitload of food and gifts for you at home.”

“Gee, thanks, Cassie.”

A manic laugh escaped Castiel. They rounded the corner, heads close together, and their voices higher than they ought to be, only to find their father standing there, arms crossed.

Their father didn’t do roaring anger. He was the quiet, seething type with cold eyes and rigid, unbending words and rules. “Boys, I think we need to go home and have a chat.”

“How is Anna?” Castiel asked, the meek tone slipping in against his will.

“They have it under control and told us to go home, get rest. Which is just as well, because she brought a few things to light I’ve been painfully unaware of.”

Lucifer eyed the stand-off for a few seconds, before he ran a hand over his face and shook his head with a sigh. When he glanced over at him and Gabriel, there was a glint of ‘you fucking morons’ in his eyes.

Castiel knew with a clarity as sharp as any he’d ever known in his life, he was not going to make it to his date with Squirrel.

*

Their father didn’t even look at them, while he spoke. Instead he moved around the desk, unplugging cables with a touch of violence, uncharacteristic for his doing. Castiel’s world was being dismantled in front of him.

“You are done, both of you. No more computers, I am cancelling the internet and throwing that cesspool of sin out. Whatever you need to work on for school, you do on the regulated college computers or you write it by hand. And I will inform the principal of this.”

Gabriel sneered. “You think you’ll be able to handle the scandal, Dad?”

“Dad, you can’t do this. I have friends there!”

“Don’t test me, Gabriel. And you, Castiel. Friends? You don’t know the meaning of the word. If they get you to make that kind of… pornographic art and send you pictures… and love songs.”

Castiel glared at Gabriel. Any actual pictures were Gabe’s for sure, but he found Gabe mouthing ‘pornographic art’ at him and cast his eyes down, teeth clenching hard enough he felt something snap in his jaw.

“Your sister is in the hospital. I am pretty sure, Castiel, it’s your shenanigans tonight that upset her enough to cause this fallback. With all we have going on, this is what you get up to?”

“You can’t blame Cassie for Anna’s seizure! Why is no one talking about Lucifer’s shenanigans? There has to be lots on there,” Gabriel argued.

“He moved out, probably for that exact reason,” Castiel snapped. “Notice he isn’t here.”

“Because it isn’t about him. You two better start falling back in line. I did not raise my sons to be… To…”

Chest falling and rising in anger, Gabriel bared his teeth at their father, when he struggled with the mere concept of them.

“You can’t even say it, can you?”

Gabriel was putting up a fight, but in this moment Castiel realized he couldn’t. Something within was paralyzed and he was trying to understand, while everything around him fell apart. Online, he could be anything he wanted to be, do what he loved and reach out into realms he never thought possible in the real world. 

Watching his father’s face contort in enraged disappointment, throwing at his feet all the things he’d been ignoring or trying to block out, the things he’d been sidestepping all to indulge in his own fantasy world, he retreated. Castiel tried to keep a handle on his inner workings, but it was quickly disintegrating. Guilt was overriding everything. Guilt and doubt and fear. A deep-rooted fear, he couldn’t even pinpoint where he’d picked it up.

He disengaged from the conflict altogether, fleeing into himself, until their father released them. Dismissed them to their rooms. The night that followed was a blur. The days after even more so.

*

**London, 2001**

Dean sat still, caught in the glare of the light of his screen, hands folded in front of his mouth. He lost track of how long he had been sitting here… his mind long gone quiet, his every nerve ending stilled into silence. That dreading had subsided, because by now, he knew.

Feathers wasn’t showing up.

But he couldn’t move. He’d been trying to convince himself to get up. Eat something, even though he was sure he’d upchuck it the next second. Take a shower, because he felt his stress sweat soaking his armpits and his lower back. But his body was rigid, stuck in this spot, and mind over matter wasn’t working.

Which lasted until it didn’t and a surge of frustration came out as a howl that sounded too desperate to his own ears. “Move, you dumb piece of shit… He isn’t coming and that’s that.”

Another animalistic sound followed, but it got him out of his paralysis, as he shoved the chair back, knocking it over and in one sweeping gesture sent everything on his desk, clattering through the room. The glass shattered on the wall. The keyboard dangled from its cord helplessly, a few of the keys skittering across the floor. The song text he had prepared twirled through the air, angling downward steadily until it landed next to his guitar.

Dean bit down on the inside of his cheek, tasting iron, until the tears that threatened subsided. Without a moment’s notice, he walked out of his room, grabbed his keys and wallet, and, just like that, crystal-clear, he remembered where Sam and Charlie had gone.

The opening of The Bunker, a new pub not far from the house.

*

When 9/11 hit, any semblance of normalcy went out the window, even on his side of the ocean.

Dean tried to check in with the Undernet crew, but their presence was scattered at best. Feathers was nowhere to be seen. There was no point asking. He watched the hazy images on the television, flanked by his parents and brother. A slew of hate crimes followed in the wake of it on either side of the pond, like the world collectively lost its shit. Because it had.

With his Mom and Dad, Sam and Charlie by his side, Dean was there, singing along, when they played the Star-Spangled Banner during the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace. He watched the news in disbelief when Ross Parker was murdered. Words that before had only existed within a very specific context exploded along with the planes on everyone’s tongue, as if they gained a true understanding of what they meant. As if by labelling people and ideals, they could try to make it make sense.

And he supposed many of them succeeded.

He wasn’t one of them.

One night, dinner was exceptionally quiet, though they were never a loud family. Sam was the chattiest of them and well, he tended to recoil in their father’s presence, ever since they agreed to disagree. It wasn’t about Sam’s choices tonight. He sensed it on the air. He knew what was coming. Saw it in the sadness in his Mom’s eyes and the steel in her spine. Read it in the way his father’s face was more lined, his expression was that of a man who remembered previous battles.

So when John cleared his throat and Mary sat up taller still, Dean straightened his back.

“Boys, we need to talk. Your mother and I will be deploying in a month.”

“Wh… What?” Sam stuttered around his forkful. “Both of you?”

“Both of us,” she nodded, her face a mask of stern regret. “We’ve always managed our rotations exceptionally well with help from Bobby, but now… With what’s happened, we have to go.”

Sam’s face hardened. “Have to? As in, it’s your choice?”

“Sweetie,” Mary sighed. “You know as well as I do the military doesn’t work that way.”

“I dunno, you always said you had some say in things.”

“We can ask,” John cut in. “That’s all. And before the situation wasn’t as volatile as it is now.”

Dean grunted. “Is that supposed to reassure us?”

“Acute would be a better word for it,” their mother said, cutting John a look that could freeze water.

John sucked his lip in mild annoyance. “Choice has nothing to do with it. It’s our duty. As it will be yours.”

At that, he looked to Dean, who felt the blood drain out of his face, his blood pounding in his ears.

“What?!” Sam panicked. “They’re sending him in too?”

“No, sweetie, they won’t.” Mary put a hand on Sam’s across the table. “In fact, Dean will be in charge. It’s just us.”

“Like that makes it better. What if you both…”

“We won’t,” their father said. “Neither one of us is on the frontline.”

If they’d been younger, maybe they’d have believed him. But Dean knew both he and Sam knew better. Not that he was going to point that out. This conversation was not for his sake. It was for Sam’s.

“And we talked to Charlie’s dad and Ellen. They’ll be your go-to while we’re away.”

“Wait, Charlie’s mom is getting deployed as well?” Dean asked, as realisation sunk in.

“Of course. A response must follow. You know that.”

“I do,” he nodded. Instinctively, he realised this was inevitable. You can’t grow up military and not be aware this was part of the deal. Sam had always taken more issue with it and was no different in this moment. He shoved his plate away from him, all appetite undoubtedly gone. Leaning back, he crossed his arms in front of him, every bit of him oozing anger and fear.

Their Mom looked at him, her blue eyes gentle. Sam just shook his head, his face contorting furiously as he went through a slew of emotions.

“Dean,” she said. “Can you help your Dad clear the table?”

“Uh, sure. Sure, Mom.”

Dean gathered the plates, shoving the leftover food onto the top one and gathered the cutlery. His father tucked the coasters under his arm, then grabbed the pot of mashed potatoes and the pan that held the last sausage. They walked to the kitchen, setting everything down on the counter. His Dad opened up the dishwasher, sighing when he saw it hadn’t been unloaded yet.

Dean’s face contorted. “So is this the part where you tell me you need me to step up?”

John’s dark eyes softened for the briefest moment. “All I need from you, Dean, is the promise that you’ll look after Sam while we’re away. That’s all _your mom_ and I ask.”

Dean swallowed, unable to speak, scraping the food off the plate into the waste. He nodded, because that order he understood. 

“We need you to hold the course, son. There’s too much going on for anything else.”

Ahh. There was the real message. Loud and clear. Louder still than the one that said to look after Sam. 

Too much going on for any of Dean’s shenanigans. Which was true, because the world felt like it was on fire. So mutely, he conceded.

Somehow, within this new world order, life demanded they soldier on.

And Dean did. Put his shoulders under the engineering track. Set his guitar aside. Temporarily, he promised himself. 

To do his part. Look after Sam.

And perhaps, in all that chaos, forget, although he knew that was a foolish notion.

Because he kept tabs on the crew, because maybe, just maybe Feathers would show up again.

He had to hold on to something as the world became staggeringly unreal around him.


	25. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look, please don’t look at me like I’m a stalker. I can genuinely tell you a lot about this guy if it helps.”
> 
> “It doesn’t,” Marian said.

**London, 2014**

_Patience, my freckled ass cheek_.

“Look, please don’t look at me like I’m a stalker. I can genuinely tell you a lot about this guy if it helps.”

“It doesn’t,” Marian said.

She looked miffed, for which Dean couldn’t blame her. Contrary to the consensus, he had obliged with the shower and the shirt, then went his merry way to do everything in his power to get Cas’ number.

“We’re not allowed to just hand out personal information.”

“But if you could look at the sheets we filled in. I know we picked each other, so all I’m asking is that you give me his number slightly in advance.”

“Our stuff is in the van.”

“Well, where’s the van?”

“Not the point,” Marian grumbled. “Dude, it’s not even eight o’clock. Why is this so important?”

“Because…”

_Because he’s my best friend from when I was a teenager._

_Because he’s the first guy I ever fell in love with, even if I was a dumb-ass._

_Because I missed out on him and now the Universe landed him back in my lap, and I lost him again!_

_Because I never stopped loving him._

Marian looked at him expectantly, rubbing her arms with her hands. The chill of the grumpily fatigued. Dean barreled onward with all the elegance that had become his trademark over the years.

“Because I love him. Not because I just met him, I swear. He… I met him online when I was an angsty, stupid, lonely teenager, when we just moved here, and he was… he was everything to me, even if it took me years to realize it. It took me _years_ to realize I was bi, and then I was still an idiot about it… seven years, okay? Seven years’ worth of friendship, of working together. He’s an artist. I’m a singer… writer, whatever. He’s… amazing. This dreamy, head-in-the-clouds, I got a million stories in my head, let me draw them for you, weird as fuck, amazing soul. And I’d never even seen him until today, well, yesterday, and he has this smile where his gums show, and he was all kinds of shy… but… I … and he cares, yeah? He did back then, cared about the weirdest of us. He listened, when no one else did, understood so much without me explaining it all… He was always there for me, even when I was being a dick. Did I mention I was an idiot?”

“I’m starting to get that,” Marian dead-panned. “Not sure if you’re a dick. What happened?”

Dean huffed in relief that she asked. It meant she was listening.

“I don’t know! We… after seven years, we finally sort of got to the point of admitting there might be more, we set up a date for a video call and he… he just never showed up. Vanished off the face of the Internet.”

“Why?”

“If I knew, maybe I’d have let it go sooner. I was starting to forget, or thinking I could forget… that it’d be better to move on, but then he showed up at the speed date and we didn’t know…”

“So you never exchanged your real names?”

“No, our parents were opposed to it, military on my end and religion on his, I guess? I don’t know. We were so used to sticking to handles, it never came up.”

“Dumbasses.”

“Thanks a lot, it’s not like I’m not already hitting myself over the head about this.”

“How did you find out then?”

“When he was leaving this morning,” Dean said. “I heard his brother use the nickname… but I was so messed up tired and upset about him leaving anyway, it registered too slow. Marian… I watched him drive away in a taxi like some fucking chick flick movie. I can’t…”

“Alright, put a cork in it.”

Offended, Dean snapped his mouth shut, recoiling at her tone.

“I wouldn’t be running a speed date track, if I wasn’t a hopeless romantic. Hold on, let me check.”

“I thought you said your stuff was in the van?”

“Mate, we do everything electronically. I lied, because there’s a weird ass stranger at my door asking for one of my speed daters at an ungodly hour. What did you think was going to happen? Come in for a second.”

Dean followed behind her and closed the door. Marian clicked on the lamp at the table and opened up a laptop. There was someone in the bed who poked up a sleepy head, groaned and flipped them off, before pulling the sheets over them.

“Your full name?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“And his?”

“I have no clue.”

She shot him a sharp look, which made him cringe. _Please, please, please don’t reconsider_.

“Goes by the nickname Cas.”

He allowed her to sift through her files in silence, not wanting to risk provoking her. Nerves humming through him, he shifted from one foot to the other, hands clasped, then waving his arms at his sides, squeezing his fists, until he thought he would burst at the seams. When she finally spoke, he let rip an explosive sigh of relief.

“Okay, I think I found him. Let me check if your name shows up.”

She huffed a sweet smile when she scanned the file.

“What?”

“Well, there’s only one name here. You both only wrote down one name. Each other. Saps.”

Dean let out a shaky laugh. “Oh, thank fuck for that.”

“Cas… Casteel?”

He frowned at the pronunciation and leaned towards the screen to check the spelling. Castiel. Gabriel. Lucifer. _Castiel_. That fit.

“Castiel,” he offered.

“Ah, of course. Castiel Novak,” she nodded.

Shooting him a soft look, Marian sighed when Dean leaned his hands on his knees, his head suddenly swimming.

“Don’t pass out on me, Romeo.”

He waved a reassuring hand at her and almost keeled over for his efforts. “I won’t, darlin’. Just gotta take a knee for a second.”

“Good grief,” Marian smiled. “Let me jot down the number for you. Do _not_ spread this around, alright? People will be knocking our door down for insta-dates.”

“No worries, straight to my phone and lips are sealed. I have no business angering Cupid or any other gods involved.”

Marian handed him a slip of paper with his name and number. Dean felt a sudden urge to have it tattooed on him.

“Thank you so much!” On impulse, he pulled her into a hug, planting a sweet kiss on her forehead. “You have no idea!”

She giggled and shoved him off half-heartedly. “Oh, I’m starting to get an idea. Now shoo. I need more sleep. Karaoke escalated all kinds of ways last night.”

Dean laughed and allowed her to jostle him out of the room. Once in the hallway, he stood still, staring at the precious information in his trembling hand. Paranoia ranking high on his current issue list, he entered the information into his phone and tucked the paper into his wallet.

Now to smith his words.

*

**Mediterranean, 2014**

Plane, yes.

Boat, a hard no.

Castiel dry-heaved, having upchucked his stomach content several hours ago. Lucifer’s hand was between his shoulder blades. “Easy, little one.”

“There is. A height difference. Of. Two inches. Between us,” Castiel panted between heaves.

Lucifer shot him a genuine, soft smile. “You’ll always be my baby brother, Cassie.”

Groaning, Castiel pushed himself off the railing, stumbling, weak in the knees. Lucifer caught him. “Let’s get you to your bunk, huh?”

He moaned agreement, because he was too miserable for languageing. His head throbbed, his stomach kept churning in a way that was a far cry from yesterday’s butterflies, and nothing about his constitution suggested he was made for the waves.

As Lucifer helped him bypass other passengers, disgust or pity the primary responses when they caught his general state of being, Castiel’s thoughts ping-ponged through his skull. One Good Samaritan held open the door for them to make their way to the accommodation deck.

“Loose.”

“Lose what?”

“Luci,” Castiel muttered.

“That’s me.”

“How about Sam?”

Lucifer’s grip on him tightened a bit. “What do you mean?”

“You liked him,” he slurred.

“Maybe. It’s okay.” Lucifer shrugged, making Castiel wince.

Every little tilt was too much right now. He burped around his next words, eliciting a chuckle from Lucifer when he grimaced. Bodily functions out of control upset Castiel.

“Interest is one thing. Judging by how physical he was with his brother and friends, there was nothing to try.”

Castiel looked up at his brother, as they squeezed through the narrow door to their rooms. So he was asexual. Ish. Lucifer parked him on his bunk. Gabriel called dibs on the top bunk, which suited his taller siblings just fine. Neither one was inclined to climb their way in and out of bed in the middle of the night, because the sound of a chugging engine and water made them have to pee.

Lucifer handed him a bottle of water, but he pushed it away, the mere thought enough to make him feel more ill. His language skills seemed to be returning somewhat, perhaps in the face of Lucifer’s mild discomfort. Which was as uncomfortable as Lucifer was prone to get.

“Sorry, Luci. We never… paid you much attention, did we?”

“What are you going on about? Are you running a fever?”

“Probably,” Castiel smiled. “Unrelated. I mean…” He panted a few times, trying to get his shoes off and found his hands batted away. Lucifer bent through one knee and helped him. “We never questioned if you were… happy. I guess.”

“I didn’t want eyes on me either, Cassie. Not about that anyway. And Dad was aware enough.”

“Lovers?”

Lucifer scoffed, removing his socks. “I have no real interest in sexual relations. Seeing as for most people that’s their go-to and default, I stuck largely to blood bonds.”

“But there have been a few, right? Kelly…?”

“Mismatched expectations in the end, but yes, for a while.”

“No one?”

“What do you care, little one?”

“Because… Are you? Happy, I mean?”

“Are you?”

That took out some of his braining skills as he laid down in the bunk. “A week ago, I’d have said no.”

“And today?”

“Not no. Not yes, either.”

“Classic Cassie, that. Is there ever a simple answer with you?”

Castiel smiled, weakly, because his muscles hurt. “Simple, this family doesn’t do.”

“Get some sleep, Yoda.”

Castiel squirmed around until he was in a fetal position, hoping to block out the world. When he slid his hand under the pillow, the picture he’d taken with him felt cool to the touch. He left it where it was, in no need for a visual reminder, as Dean seemed to be etched into his retinas.

His phone buzzed.


	26. 2002-2003

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, well, when do we ever get what we deserve, except in punishment?”
> 
> Gabriel shot him a withering stare that could skin him alive. “That’s it. No more Church for you without me to whisper in your ear like a good little demon to offset all that fucking nonsense.”

**Texas, 2002**

Castiel learned he wasn’t much of a rebel after all. A covert one, if anything, and then what was the point? In the wake of his father’s ‘intervention’ as he dubbed it, he found his resolve crumbling. Rapidly. Along with it came the sense that, perhaps, Squirrel was better off without him. It was appalling how quickly he fell back in line and who could love such a spineless being? 

School first. His degree. It was the one thing his father didn’t take away from him, if only because he could hold it over Castiel as a threat, if he failed to stay the course. Make up his absence to his sister. Help care for her. Pull his weight around the house. Return to Church. Get a part-time job with the dual objective of getting out of the house and finding some semblance of independence. Blend back in. Curfew.

“Gabe, for God’s sake,” he said, grimacing at the expression slipping back into his vocabulary. “Do you enjoy provoking him?”

They were at the mall, in search of painting material for Castiel, while Gabe had just wanted out of the house. Gabriel waved his popsicle at him, as he side-stepped a group of giggling pre-teens. 

“Cassie, it’s just not in my nature to retreat, alright? Besides, half of it sounds like a joke, which keeps Dad on his toes. He never knows what’s genuine and what isn’t, which means I get to tell him truths he doesn’t want to hear without him realising it.”

“Yeah, and keep the household on eggshells.”

To be fair, Gabe was taking the brunt of it by continuing to be his own brand of dick. 

Castiel sighed, as he pointed at the art supply store. The only one in a ridiculous mile near where they lived and he still wasn’t sure he’d find what he needed. “Never thought I’d see the day Luci would be the one trying to meet everyone in the middle…”

“He has been dropping by more often, hasn’t he?”

“The Lord knows why,” Castiel said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Cause it’s never not a stilted affair of pretending there’s no elephant in every corner of the damn room.”

“I’m convinced he thrives on chaos.”

“I’m not sure.” Castiel hummed doubtfully. “It’s so atypical, I can’t help but feel guilty for that too.”

Gabriel made a face, as if his popsicle just turned into a piece of broccoli. “Eech, I can tell the pastor is getting to you again. Why guilt?”

Castiel inhaled the scent of crayon, paint and paper, smiling as he did so. He needed new pencils. Well, he didn’t need them, but he wanted them. He rolled his eyes when he saw Gabe smile widely around his popsicle at the cashier when they noticed he’d brought food inside. Castiel tugged him along, dodging into the right hallway before they could call them out on it.

“Anna.”

“Anna?” Gabriel echoed.

With a sharp nod, Castiel recalled the moment. “She cornered me… Yesterday? No, two days ago, when I was the only one home.”

He scanned the rows upon rows of pencils, fingers gliding over their ends, as he zoned in on his favorite brand. “Dad’s made it repetitively clear that me talking about meeting my online male friend upset Anna to the point it caused her seizure.”

“Cassie, you know that’s not true,” Gabe started, but Castiel cut him off.

“Who knows for sure? All I know is that Thursday… she looked at me the way she did when we were kids. Remember her energy when we were younger?”

He heard Gabriel’s teeth grind down on the popsicle. His brother gave a curt nod, his eyebrows conveying a similar emotion Castiel felt.

“Well, it was there. And she asked me…” He hesitated, inhaling the soothing scent of wooden pencils. “She asked me to… sort of… give in, acquiesce, I guess. Not for Dad’s sake, but for hers.”

“Goddamnit,” Gabriel cursed lowly. “That just ain’t fair, Cassie, and you know it. You deserve better.”

“Yeah, well, when do we ever get what we deserve, except in punishment?”

Gabriel shot him a withering stare that could skin him alive. “That’s it. No more Church for you without me to whisper in your ear like a good little demon to offset all that fucking nonsense.”

Castiel laughed, despite the way his chest hurt. “Oh, my demons are alive and kicking, Gabe, don’t worry. And they’re the best kind of muse.”

“I’m sure they are. So what are we getting? That cashier looked like my type.”

“He looked like he was going to throttle you.”

“Exactly my point.”

Castiel picked out ten, no, fifteen pencils. They wandered around the store for another hour. In the end, Castiel walked out with everything he needed and Gabe with the cashier’s phone number.

*

It ‘only’ took Castiel a year or so before he dared once more. Not a return to the Undernet. Meg offered to check in on his behalf, but he refused the offer. Her dark eyes read him in that moment and he retreated behind a wall, its bricks towering high and dark. That ship had surely sailed and Castiel didn’t have the heart or strength to watch it slip away over the horizon. At least this way, he could still dream. And dream he did, soaring through the night’s sky… waking in the morning with a hole in his chest. He believed he got what he deserved and, perhaps more deeply, that Squirrel deserved better. But he dared.

Mainly because he feared he’d do harm to himself if he didn’t do something else. So he called up Michael. Apologized to him too. Made amends. Because Michael was, at the same time, a means to an end, a mute rebellion and familiar territory with a veneer of safety.

Even if he eventually got caught in that web of self-delusion, lies and manipulations.

Lying to his father. But he had that coming.

Lying to his brothers and sister. But they didn’t need to know how he felt.

Lying to himself. But he didn’t realize that until much, much later.

*

**London, 2003**

Sam looked at him from his vantage point, slowly releasing the full weight of the bar-bell into Dean’s wrapped up palms. “Dean, you do realise the fall-out of what you’re asking?”

Dean huffed, tensing his muscles as he lowered the bar almost to his chest. His voice sounded strained, but that fit his mood rather perfectly. “Look, I know I can be an idiot who doesn’t think shit through, but I’ve given it plenty of thought, alright? Probably a lot longer than I’m even aware of.”

"It didn't sound like you had a lot of time to think while you were over there."

"You'd be surprised. It's not like easy sleep is on sale."

Sam's face betrayed his concern, but he's been dancing around the subject of Dean's deployment like a witch around her cauldron. In large part, due to Dean's own reluctance. He did his duty. Less than perfect, if anyone asked, which they generally didn't. Chances that his guilt would let up any time soon were slim. But being there rearranged his priorities in ways he never expected, which was exactly why he intended to not lose sight of his objective.

He controlled his breathing, signalling to Sam he was ready.

“This explains why you suddenly offered to come here together.” Sam kept his hands wide and open, signalling for Dean to lift. “Who else did you talk to about it?”

“The crew. But aside from them, and now you, no one.”

“So Dad doesn’t know yet?”

“Hell no."

"Okay. But it's not like you can just walk out on the military."

"I can't, but you still can."

"So what'll you do?"

"Look, I’m certain I wanna do this, so let me worry about that. Pretty sure I have an exit strategy that'll work. I know I need to have everything in place before I tell Mom and Dad. The more I present them with a fait accompli, the less they’ll argue the toss.”

Sam blinked a few times, processing what he’d said. “That actually doesn’t sound like a bad plan.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Sammy. Hold it for a sec.”

“Not about the plan,” Sam said, wrapping his hands around the bar and resting it on the bench. “Just that you’re actually going to do this. Finally. What changed?”

Dean sat up and glowered at Sam over his shoulder. Or he hoped he glowered, because he might as well have been crying without shedding any tears. “You gotta ask? This engineer job.. It’s good, alright, it pays well, but I’m done taking orders. With Dad now pushing the Officer track, I want out. The penalties would cripple me. You were never in to begin with. Can we get Charlie in on this?”

Sam nodded as he handed him a bottle of water, forehead wrinkling. “The idea that she’d fit into any of the military boxes is laughable. And Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell makes her blow her top every time it comes up.”

“Rightly so,” Dean scoffed. “I’m not going to live that kind of lie for a country that’ll turn on me the second they know who I’m in love with.”

He grimaced at the words and closed his eyes when he saw the softness in Sam’s expression. It was true, although he hadn’t intended to say the words out loud. That, at least, Dean was done with. Lying about who and what he was.

“Dean, I’m sorry…”

“Sammy, don’t,” he said, lifting a hand. “I need to get things done and I’ll get fuck all done, if I let those feelings take over.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam nodded. “I get it, but eventually… you know.” He scowled at Dean’s glare and for a second, he feared Sam might push. “What’s the plan?”

“I found a rental apartment in Kentish Town.. It’s a bit run-down, but we got enough skills to fix that. It’ll be littered with our shit, you know how Charlie and I am, but it’ll be ours and we’ll call the shots.”

“That’s actually not far from Charlie’s Office of Doom. Her travel time would go down.”

“Exactly. It’ll free up time for her to do her comic and gaming thing.”

“What will you do?”

Dean set the bottle down and scooped up some chalk. Clapping the worst of it off his hands, he settled back onto the bench. With a low grunt, he accepted the dumbbell from Sam. “I’ve got a job interview at UCL’s engineering department next week. If that works out, I’ll take it from there. One thing at a time.”

“Kentish Town?”

“Uh-huh,” Dean grunted, feeling the burn in his arms kick in. “Why?”

“That’s close to the library.”

“Also true. Perhaps we can get some things to align for everyone. How does that sound?”

Sam smiled at him. “Better than you insisting on more of these bench presses. I’d have talked to you at home too, you know.”

“Oh, thank God,” Dean groaned.

It was surprisingly easy once they got past the initial resistance from their parents. A decision like this one didn’t need approval. It didn’t even need permission.

Their apartment was littered and noisy and, at times, cramped, as they all tried to figure out what to do with their lives, but it felt closer to home than Dean had ever expected. His cooking skills outmatched Sam’s and Charlie’s combined. Charlie filled all her free time with creating online comics and gaming content and possibly hacking into systems she had no business hacking into. Sam stuck to an insane work-out schedule that had both him and Charlie sweating just from looking at it on the fridge. Searching for an outlet that was different from before, a rift almost, he joined Charlie in the SCA. Pretending to be someone else seemed to do him favors. Sam attended on occasion.

He kept tabs on the Undernet crew, but many of them were also starting their own lives. They talked less online, but met up in real life. They became tangible in those brief moments, then returned to their real lives. Real. The word had a deceitful ring to it.

Their home went a good way towards softening a sorrow he tried to drown, deny or ignore, depending on his mood, failing and succeeding in equal measure. But he still saw it reflected in the crease between Sam’s eyebrows and the softness in Charlie’s eyes, when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. He always ducked out from under their scrutiny and eventually Feathers became a memory on the shelf in his vault. A memory that had a voice he’d never heard and a face he’d never seen. A memory that would move and speak and dance, when he least expected it. But a memory nonetheless.

Sam eventually got a job at The British Library and read to kids on the weekends. After a year of working at UCL, something finally clicked into place and Dean started evening classes to become a counsellor. Charlie switched to part-time soul-death and worked her artistic career on the side. Between the three of them, their activities cross-pollinated often and soon enough the combined Winchester-Bradbury force became synonym for ‘we will adopt your kids for limited amounts of time and hand them back at least equal, if not better than before’.

It was wholesome, for all that his heart was breaking into a million pieces every night, for much longer than Dean cared to admit to anyone but the soul he saw in the mirror on too quiet, lonely mornings. Sometimes he hated himself for being so hung up on someone he’d never even been in the same room with. For just being so hung up. Who did that? There was romantic and there was pathetic.

True to form and under the despairing gaze of Sam, Charlie and, in part, the crew when they finally made it to England, he threw himself in a sea of all too willing hook-ups. Lisa re-appeared, though she didn’t believe his insistence that this time around it was real for too long. Cassie stood by him, as a friend, but was eventually swallowed by the waves of life. Nick Munroe as… something. 

Dean was many things, if not nostalgic and idiotically loyal in a fucked-up way. Until he realized he was being a massive dick. So following them came plenty a face and body he’d never bothered to get the name from, because at least that way he wasn’t making promises he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep. Some of them had all the makings of an actual relationship, until expectations stopped lining up…

Except for Lee. He made a massive effort for Lee. For a good while, it worked, which made him believe that maybe there was hope for him yet. It was thanks to Lee that he got through the darkness that followed Feathers’ disappearance. They remained friends after, but Lee being Lee, an adventurer at heart, he also moved on.

As the years went by, Dean’s beliefs switched as often as he bought new plaid shirts. Some days he believed something terrible happened to Feathers, which made him forget to breathe. Other days he figured Feathers had thought better of it and found someone local. Still others, he guessed he only had himself to blame for behaving like such a dumbass for all those years. Maybe Feathers got literal cold feet, this time around. Dean couldn’t fully blame him with the stunts he’d pulled on him. From a _feelings_ point of view, fickle didn’t begin to describe it. So maybe Feathers thought better of it. Dean had kinda hoped he’d be worth that conversation though.

In the end, he decided all of them and none of them could be true at the same time and he’d never know the Truth of it.

So maybe a man existed who had understood him in ways no one else had for years and he feared no one else ever would. A man who may just have loved him. A man who may have been real.

On poetic days, it served to lift his heart. It added to the life he had. A loved dork. Lonely, perhaps, but loved nonetheless.

On one particular day, wanting to believe angels were still real, he walked into a tattoo shop with one of Feathers’ drawings, the six winged Seraph, and asked to have the style transferred to his skin, into his bloodstream. The quality of the print-out wasn’t good enough, but the artist did the idea justice and after several hours of sweating, zoning out and sinking into his bones as the needle cut through his skin, Dean was in possession of a massive set of angels wings. They fanned out across his shoulders and down his flanks.

They weren’t his. They were an angel’s, watching over him.

Which would have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so historically speaking there's a lot wrong here. A few things.
> 
> London was picked, because I wanted to use the ExCel convention. Dean's military background wasn't supposed to take a front seat, but it did. (Military hoodies have long-lasting consequences.) So in figuring out his mechanical engineering track, it became clear I can't have him just 'up and leave' the military as I initially intended. Not without doing something against his nature or having to rely on his parents, which isn't something he'd want. Hence I took some narrative freedoms and integrated Operation Iraqi Freedom into his background, even though him being London-based isn't historically sound at all (as far as my research went, at least, it isn't always easy to find out which units were where.. and yes, I've done this before for Navy and Coast Guard-related characters). 
> 
> Don't Ask, Don't Tell, however, genuinely was one way to get out, per my own husband's input. (He wasn't discharged because of that, nw.) 
> 
> If you'll forgive me some of those narrative freedoms, it can hold. Ish.
> 
> Sam and Charlie will continue their education at a local college, the former backed up by Dean, in true canon fashion. It's why Dean lives in relatively modest circumstances by 2014. He basically worked and studied his ass off.
> 
> Not sure why I'm saying all this, but here you are. ^^ A look in the writer's chaotic head.


	27. Mediterranean - 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean picks up his pen once more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem was written by yours truly. ^^ I have a weakness. You'll notice if you go through my other stories.

**Mediterranean, 2014**

On Cas’ phone

Lost count of the minutes, hours I have dreamt up,  
Every little detail of you, my Feathers  
Building you from our house of memories  
I almost missed you were there with me

Because you see, a poem like you, a melody like you  
Can never be forgotten, ever on replay  
In a language that transcends reality  
Speaking to me even in my dreams

Reaching into the void, finding a hand in the dark,  
A voice replying, clear,  
Your soul bright like a flame,  
Drawing me in time and again

Touch me lest I lose you once more,  
Hear me lest you might forget me,  
Feel me lest I think you aren’t real,  
Return to me lest we deny ourselves this chance


	28. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel chuckled at the brazen conviction, warming him across the distance.
> 
> “Made you laugh,” Dean grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hums some more* I like this Dean...

**London, 2014**

Dean drummed his fingers on the table, trying to crawl into Sam’s lap to listen in. Squinting at him, Sam planted a hand in his face, shoving him away. Dean let out a small snarl, licked his brother’s hand Stitch-like, making Sam do his silent ‘a curse on your cow’ face, and insisted, pressing his whole right side into Sam’s left. He hadn’t been this obnoxious in at least a month. The last time had been about ice-cream and pie and getting the best spot on the couch. Simpler times.

“At least put him on speaker,” Dean hissed.

With a sigh, his brother lamented and held the phone between them. “You’re calling on the cruise ship’s fixed line?”

“Reception’s a bit spotty, so yes, I had a chat with the captain.”

Gabriel sounded as annoyingly cheery as he’d been in close quarters, but Sam assured him he was on board. It had taken all of five seconds of questions back and forth, before everyone realised Cas was indeed Feathers and Dean was indeed Squirrel and what were the odds and they all knew a helluva lot more about each other than they initially thought, and wasn’t the world a small fucking place after all?

“And they let you?”

“Were you not there when I oozed my charm all over you a few nights ago? And other…”

Dean gagged, eyeing Sam up and down. 

“Shut up,” Sam snapped.

“Impossible, Sasquatch.”

“My brother’s here. Does that provoke any sense of modesty?”

“Dean-o! How are you?”

Sam huffed. “Impossible to live with, but then that seems to be a pattern in my life.”

“What are you implying?” Gabriel asked.

“Are you two done flirting? I’d like to get a hold of Cas. I texted him, but he’s not replying.”

“He’s been suffering a severe case of seasickness the past 12 hours.”

“Oh, shit,” Dean huffed. “Why aren’t you with him?”

“I would say I’m not my brother’s keeper, but this phone call implies otherwise. Luci’s looking in on him regularly.”

“So he hasn’t read it?”

“Not sure. You rattled him a bit, even before he became aware of who you really are.”

“ _I_ rattled _him_?”

“Gabe,” Sam cut in. “Can you just… check if he got the message?”

“And what if he did, but doesn’t want to reply? Or doesn’t know what to say?”

“Tell him to take his time then,” Dean said. He stomped down on the petulant voice that wanted to pipe up. _Bad_. “I’ve waited for years. A day or two won’t make much difference.”

“Whoa, even across this distance and with this shitty connection, I can sense the distress, Dean-o.”

Dean mouthed the nickname at Sam, who just shot him a goofy grin, clearly high on hearing Gabriel’s voice.

“Yeah, well… I don’t want to pressure him. He seemed… cautious.”

“Up until the moment he landed in your arms in that bed. Aren’t you charm on a stick?” He tsk-ed a few times, as if giving it some thought and both Winchesters looked at each other, waiting it out.

“Tell you what, I’ll play Cupid once more. Open up the lines of communication. Then it’s up to you two tormented love birds.”

“Can we cut back on some of the drama?” Dean sighed.

Gabriel’s voice oozed glee. “You forget I saw you come barrelling out of the convention centre half naked. Left quite an impression, I must say.”

Despite himself, Dean chuckled. “I can imagine.”

“He’s held that torch forever,” Sam supplied, earning another elbow in his ribs. “Which is a lot sweeter and not as creepy as it sounds. I hope.”

“Well, it makes two of them. So they can be sweet creeps together.”

Dean grabbed Sam’s phone, speaking into it more. “For real?”

Gabriel laughed. “If I know my brother and I like to think I do, yeah. Look up his portfolio online. You’ll know. Now if you’ll excuse me. Cupid has a job to do.”

“Gabe, wait,” Sam muttered.

Dean saw the frown and softness in his eyes, knowing Sam needed to be alone with Gabe.

“Gabe, thanks, mate,” Dean said. “I’ll leave you to Sam for a bit.”

“Just don’t fuck it up, Dean-o.”

Dean put enough bite behind his tone, shooting Sam a significant look. “Same to you.”

*

**Mediterranean, 2014**

Sleep was a no go. Which ought to tell him that some of the worst of it was behind him, but Castiel was unwilling to leave this cocoon. He was aware of his cell phone’s existence, like the heart under the floorboards of Edgar Allan Poe’s _The Telltale Heart._

Castiel registered the sound of the door opening and turned towards it on instinct. Loath to open his eyes, he inhaled, his senses on edge since he got ill.

“Hey, Gabe.”

“How are you feeling, Cassie?”

“Not throwing up, so that’s an improvement, but it feels like I mainly want to sleep.” A bit of a lie. He wanted unconsciousness.

“Where is your phone?”

Castiel frowned and opened his eyes. Gabriel stood next to his bunk, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

“Cassie.”

“In a box.”

“What?”

“Under my bunk.”

“Wha…” He watched Gabriel’s mercurial mind work. “So you got Dean’s text.”

“I did…”

Gabe spread his arms wide in disbelief. “What are you, fucking five years old?”

“I am ill and upset, is what I am.”

“Why?”

“Dean deserves better.”

“Oh, for the fucking love of…”

“Gabe. I never bothered to go back. I didn’t fight when dad came down on us. You did. I should have, but I didn’t.”

“So? You were a 20 something, melancholic, gay kid in Texas. For all the swagger kids have at that age, we’re just… inexperienced brats who have no idea how to handle anything with anything resembling elegance. I mean, look at us now. We’re still bumbling idiots.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Says the one whose phone is in a box under his bed while you have Squirrel on the other end!”

“How do you know anyway?”

“Sam called me.”

Castiel smiled. “So you two hit it off.”

“We did. Now can you please make all those years of watching you pine worth something?”

“Gabe, for fuck’s sake, I’m scared shitless.”

“Oof, out both ends? That’s harsh.”

He groaned and turned his back on Gabriel.

“Castiel Novak.”

Oh, shit. Full name shenanigans.

“What?” he snapped testily.

“Did you love Squirrel?”

“You know I do.”

“Did Dean, as in Not-Squirrel, strike you as a good match? Which is kind of a redundant question as you were eating his face all night, but you know, for clarity’s sake.”

He shifted, glancing over his shoulder. His cheeks felt warm, but it was not because of the seasickness.

“Dean struck me as…” He hesitated, trying to shut out the anxious voice, the one that said it wasn’t real and he didn’t deserve it. “… Don’t make him sound like some cheap Tinder option. He’s more… He’s… _everything_.”

The vehemence and awe in his own voice surprised him. Gabe kept a remarkable grip on his expression. 

“We’re finally getting into it. I’ll take that as more than just a yes.”

Castiel waited. Expectant.

“So is it Dad throwing his shadow from the grave?”

“Fuck no.”

“Excellent, then haul your seasick ass out of that bunk, take a shower and give it some thought. Clear your head. Not sure if he deserves better, you two seem to be made for each other, but he at least deserves an answer after… how many years?”

“12 years, 11 months and…”

Gabe’s exhale was explosive. “Yeah, exactly my fucking point. Neither one of you are ever living down any of the dramatics you’ve exhibited. Pining across the plaza. Half naked bursting out of the convention center. Wing kinks. Werewolf lovers. Hiding your phone under your bunk on the cruise. Good god.”

“Hey, you made us Werewolf lovers.”

“I think you guys did that years ago. You just never got to consummate it.”

That successfully provoked Castiel and he knew it the second he turned to face Gabriel, a protest on his lips. Gabe smirked, his lips curling up knowingly. “Sit on that for a while, huh? In the shower.”

“You are the worst.”

“Love you too, Cassie. Hop to it. Not everyone gets second chances like that.”

“Since when are you the reasonable brother?”

“Since I’m looking at booking return tickets for both of us, if not all of us. It’ll depend on how fed up Luci is with all of this.” A gesture with his hand that encompassed both of them.

“You wanna go meet Sam!”

“Duh.” Gabriel rolled his eyes, spreading his arms wide. “What? You thought I was being all _noble_ here? Please, I just want to get my hands on…”

“Yeah, that’ll do!” Castiel yelled, covering his ears. “That’s Dean’s baby brother. I remember stories from when he was a kid. Fuck all the way off. And I’ll fucking repeat myself for good measure. Do not mess with him!”

“Right now you’re messing with Dean more than I am with Sam. Just FYI. So get a grip on that fear, because it’s costing you. More than it’s worth.”

“Gee, Gabe, don’t hold back.”

“You’re fucking welcome.”

*

The second text from Dean had anxiety written in between every line. Castiel needed to stop screwing up. Gabe was right. Big boy pants.

**> > Okay... Or like normal people would have it, turns out we chose each other and we know each other. I have missed you, my Feathers. How are you?**

Castiel stared at the message. The one Dean sent, when a reply to the first one wasn’t forthcoming. He found the second one easier to deal with, despite his soul in a permanent ricochet at the first one. Stubbornly, he forced himself to find words, simple words, to start talking to Squirrel, on the other end of a virtual space once more.

<< Normal is a disgusting word. And your words are gorgeous, soulfelt, as ever, like not a day has passed. And I feel like I am in a surreal comedy noir. There is nothing normal about this.

**> > Not what I was gunning for, but a response is better than silence. Heya, Cas.**

<< Hello, Dean. Indeed. I am at a bit of a loss.

**> > Can I call you?**

<< I’m seasick, I look and feel like shit.

**> > Yeah, but we’ve kinda been waiting for a while.**

<< Dean…

<< I’m so sorry I never returned…

**> > Cas… it’s okay. I don’t know what happened, but I’d love to hear it. Just… I just… want to see you again.**

He could sense the need behind those words, as easily as if those 13 years hadn’t passed. Castiel felt physically ill at the situation, at the pain he’d put Squirrel through and his own whirling, throbbing head.

<< I can’t call now. I’m crying and… I can’t barely see the screen.

**> > Oh, honey…**

His whole being yearned for Dean. With every cell, every neuron. He wanted him close by, but his heart hurt. Like this was suddenly too much to take in.

<< You can’t be this sweet. Please, Squirrel, you deserve better.

**> > I can be whatever I damn well please, Feathers. I’ll decide that for myself, just like I expect you to make up your own mind.**

Cas smiled, because he could almost _hear_ the tone in which the first sentence would be spoken. He could see the slight clenching of his jaw and the stubborn angle of his chin. 

The gentle order in the second one cleared some of his head, though he couldn’t stop crying.

**> > Take your time.**

**> > See you in a bit, Feathers.**

With a deep, unsettling melancholy, Castiel responded with the words they always used, heavy on the implication that he would, eventually, reach out again.

<< See you in a bit, Squirrel.

The trust within that promise brought his crying to the next level. He had not cried like this in years, perhaps forever. Not in the wake of Michael’s disaster. Not at his therapist’s. Not when they almost lost Anna. Not when his father died.

These were tears over lost years, missed chances and most of all the fact that he’d allowed others to box him into a corner… now all too aware of what they’d denied him, if the past 24 hours were something to go by. Years of loneliness, of being confronted time and again with his inability to connect with people, of always being on the outside looking in and never quite understanding why, despite his best efforts. Despite adapting and pretending and changing and always coming up short.

Years of missing Squirrel and suffering the emptiness that carved out in his core. He couldn’t even begin to put into words, but his art had helped him channel. The loss made him drown himself in his work, finding other ways to make a difference, to do right by others. To do right by everyone else…

Castiel groaned when a different kind of nausea washed over him and he curled in on himself, pulling the blankets closer around him, wishing for all the world Dean was here and would just… wrap him in his arms and cover him with his weight. He wished for his scent to invade his senses and make him forget and remember everything at the same time.

*

It took about four hours before Castiel worked up enough nerve and felt human enough to call Dean. He took a shower and had some food with his brothers in the ship’s restaurant. They didn’t talk much, his hold on his state of mind and body visibly strenuous. Castiel excused himself, waving his phone at them, and walked onto the deck, in search of a secluded spot.

Video call. His blood hummed in his ears and he bit a little too hard on his lip.

Of course Dean picked up on the first ring.

The relieved exhale with which he greeted Castiel was heartfelt. “Feathers…”

Castiel felt a blend of shyness and contentment fight for dominance and he wasn’t sure which he conveyed to Dean. He found his way to the front of the lowest deck, which held the fewest people, a bright blue sky above him and the sound of waves in the background. All very peaceful as opposed to his inner workings.

“Hello, Squirrel.”

The connection wasn’t brilliant and the quality of the video debatable, but he had a visual on Dean, which was more than they had a few hours ago. Much more than they’d had as kids and he wondered how they would have fared.

Dean was inside somewhere, his house presumably and he heard the clatter of pots and pans. The sound of a wooden cutting board sliding over the counter.

“Heya, Cas.” Dean grimaced, as if confused why he tacked on another greeting, then his voice went deeper, oozing relief, and his face did tricks. Which, now that Castiel knew it was Squirrel, made it so much more meaningful. “It’s… so, so good to finally see you.”

“You saw me a few days ago.”

“Yeah, I did,” Dean said, audibly smug at the memory. “But I had no idea who you were and it only got better after I found out.”

Castiel took in a sharp breath. If he’d thought this conversation would be even-paced, he was clearly in the wrong.

“Oh, holy fucking shit, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

“I’ve changed plenty, honey, but if you mean the brakes are still off when it comes to you, then no. No, I haven’t changed. Yes, they are very much off. When it comes to you, not a thing has changed. Though I didn’t realise it until now.”

“How can you just… gloss over 13 years like that? Without even knowing why I never showed up.”

Dean’s brow furrowed in contemplation, which was a cute look on him. He rubbed his hands from the back of his head to the front a few times, dimples standing out. “Was it your choice?”

“No.”

“Then I will gladly listen to you tell me that story and anything else from the past 13 years you want to share from the comfort of my arms and lap.”

That drew an entirely involuntary groan from Castiel, which made Dean grin wider and lick his lips. Too easy! Too kind! Why wasn’t Dean chewing him out?

Dean flashed him a row of even, white teeth. “Yes?”

“You… fucking hell, Squirrel, you always were a touch intense when you had a goal in mind.”

“Only when it’s worth it.”

An annoyed hum pushed past Castiel’s lips at the blind faith.

“Do you have any sense of self-preservation at all?”

“I resent that,” Dean said. “Look, you were there for the past 48 hours and you were there from 1994 to 2001. It would be different if we hadn’t had those seven years, because then I’d technically know jack shit about you, but I do… I know you so well and we hit it off, Feathers, gloriously.”

Castiel chuckled at the brazen conviction, warming him across the distance.

“Made you laugh,” Dean grinned.

It was so infectious, Castiel almost forgot he was supposed to be worrying up a storm.

Castiel stared at him, not knowing what to do. He watched Dean’s face work, the way he licked his lips, how he jutted his chin out as he contemplated what to say and Castiel felt himself relying on Squirrel’s eloquence to carry some of this conversation.

“Feathers...”

The wariness in Dean’s voice triggered Cas’ empathy. “I’m here, Squirrel. Not all there, but I’m here.”

Dean smiled, but his eyes seemed sad. He shook his head, running his hand through his hair again and tugging on his ear lobe. It was weird observing him from the Squirrel angle and it drew Castiel in with enough force to distract him further from his anxiety.

He wanted to see pictures of teenage Dean. Match them with his memories. He hoped there were home videos. _Wait… What?_

He seemed to be staring out the window, licking his lips a few times. When Dean spoke, it was like they had never skipped a second of knowing each other, of sensing each other’s mood as effortlessly as they had as teens.

“It feels like you and I are standing on the edge of something, higher than either of us has ever been before. Please keep in mind this is coming from a guy who’s afraid of heights…”

“You’re afraid of heights?”

“Terrified.”

Castiel shot him a soft smile. “Go on then.”

“Don’t you want to find out if we can fly?”

“Squirrels can’t…”

“… can fly. And your handle was Feathers, so I don’t know what we’re waiting for.”

Could it be that simple?


	29. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a tease, Dean.”
> 
> “Except this time around, I’ll follow through,” he winked coyly.

**London, 2014**

Dean laughed through his hard breathing within the helmet, the clang of metal on metal loud. He’d been hounding his brother throughout this tournament and Sam had engaged him every time, likely because he was in a similar headspace. Dean was sure he knew why… Sports had always been part of his youth, even with cheerleading at the height of his angsty teen years, and to this day, physical activity was a go-to in times of mental overdrive. It was why they’d signed up for the tournament last second, rather than just wander around the festival. Today was the last day and this morning was the first morning he hadn’t woken with hope in his heart. A bittersweet sentiment. 

His thoughts had turned to Cas, the way they did on a daily basis on every level of awareness, because his brain was just… _He_ was just a dumb romantic. Cas had fallen silent and Dean resisted the urge to force the matter. He wanted to text him, but hounding Cas seemed counterintuitive. The frustration that netted resulted in him fighting Sam, smiling wickedly through the grate of the helmet.

Sam was trying to shove him off balance by crowding him. His brother was fast, faster than his size would suggest, but Dean had some years of SCA on him and dodged with a few smooth moves. The bell dinged, signaling the end. With a flash of annoyance, he wished they didn’t need to abide by the rules. Cheers erupted from the onlookers and he lifted his sword, muscles shaking. Over an hour of this, even with the built in breaks, and he knew he’d feel it tomorrow and the day after. But damn if his system didn’t need to be out for the count.

Charlie helped him and Sam to take off their gloves, and he grasped at the clasp under his chin, cursing when the amount of sweat made the task slow. With a loud huff, he tore off the helmet, taking deep breaths, skin aglow with sweat and warmth. He dropped the helmet and broadsword to the grass and bent over to grab a bottle of water and a towel.

“Oh, man, that was good.” 

He ruffled his hair with the towel and dried the back of his neck, draping it around. Heart thudding loudly at the lack of oxygen, he gulped down the bottle in one go.

Sam grinned at him, face shiny with sweat, but then his brother’s eyes widened, a disbelieving smile rearranging his features. Sam pawed at him with one hand, shoving and tugging at the same time, the way he did when he got stupid excited. “Holy shit, Dean, turn around.”

His brain a touch sluggish, as he recovered from the physical exertion, he swiveled around, not sure what to expect. “Huh? Is it…?” He wanted to say Gabriel, but that made zero sense.

It took him all of four seconds to zone in on the reason for Sam’s excitement. People were always dressed up at these tournaments, but no one had ever quite worn anything like that. The view was stunning. Though he was likely biased.

“Feathers,” he breathed out, voice lilting up in incredulity.

He looked to Sam to double-check, mouth suddenly quite dry. “I am not seeing things, right?” he whispered.

Sam beamed his goofy smile at him and his eyes were already darting around for the other brother. Dean rolled his eyes in desperation. What a romantic mess, they were, Winchesters…

“Dude, he’s real. Go, go.” Sam shoved at his back, pushing him forward.

His vision narrowed to Castiel, dressed like… an angel in a trenchcoat? Complete with black wings peeking out over his shoulders. He remembered seeing those wings at the stand at Loncon. What were the odds they were now on Cas? And how? 

The trench was slightly too big. Even across the distance, he could see the hesitance in his body language, as if - even now - he expected something to go wrong. The urge to protect tugged suddenly and insistently at his heart. He shoved the empty bottle in Sam’s chest, who cursed at him. His trajectory clear, he started towards Cas, a self-conscious tilt to his shoulders as he was aware of his funky state of being.

A smile of relief split Cas’ face and he took off running towards Dean, feathers aflutter behind him.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. He lengthened his strides to meet Cas halfway. He looked at Castiel’s face the closer he got, his heart soaring at where this was going but so aware, acutely, painfully aware of Cas’ caution the last time they saw each other and every other memory before that had led them to this point.

His eyes darted from Cas’ lips to his crinkling, blue eyes, and saw his arms opening wide to throw himself at Dean. There was no restraint left… No caution, no hesitation, only Cas, his Feathers, running at him. Dean felt like his soul was on raw display for everyone to see. Cas held his eyes and in that split second Dean registered his intentions, as they flicked to his mouth.

_Oh, fuck me…_

“Dean, I want to…”

“Jeezes, go for it, Cas,” he breathed out, voice tight.

The next second, Cas barreled into him and Dean let out a muffled groan, eyes sliding shut, sensing two arms wrap around him tight, lips claiming his. With the touch, they were encased in a globe. Their own private little bubble of reality and damn if it wasn’t all kinds of beautiful and delicious and right. Cas’ kiss was warm, fervent, in the way he clutched onto him. Dean’s hands slid under the trench, shameless in breaching the next layer and getting his hands on the skin of Cas’ lower back and pulling him flush to him. They trembled in each other’s arms. Shockingly, Dean was unable to stop his body from doing so.

Cas whimpered against his lips. A sound he recognized and cherished already. He slid his hands up Cas’ back, fumbling almost, encountering resistance from the wing harness. A frustrated, needy sound spilled out of him, into Cas’ mouth, whose tongue slipped past and he could taste him, which made everything better.

Brain firing nothing but endorphins and want, Dean cupped Cas’ face, thumbs caressing his jawline, his scruff, deepening the kiss, forgetting everything, except enveloping his senses around him, swallowing the moment whole. Every sound, every scent, every gesture, every little thing that made his soul shine brighter. He wrapped both arms around his trembling body, trying to ground them as they threatened to fall apart.. Cas tightened his grip on him in return and slowly, their essence returning to Earth and they melted together.

His ears were humming, blood rushing to a lot of places it had no business being, at least not in a public setting. When he pressed closer to Cas, that drew a yelp from the man which towed the line between embarrassment and desire. Suddenly Dean was aware enough of their surroundings to pull back. He grinned against Cas’ lips, as he opened his eyes. His hands were still shaking. Cas looked gorgeously flushed, cheeks pink, eyes bright… Dean breathed in deep, nostrils flaring at the essence of Cas so, so close. Those eyes would be his undoing. Feathers would be his undoing.

“Hello, Squirrel,” Cas smiled, blinking a few times.

Dean butterflied more kisses. “Heya, Feathers. You just had to show up before I got my shower, huh?”

“Seeing as I don’t know where you live, yes.”

Dean lowered his eyes, casting a subtle glance around, but that was a lost battle.

“It seems our knight has found his guardian angel, people,” Charlie spoke into the mic, shooting them a fond, meaningful look. “Count him out for the day.”

That got a round of applause and a shitload of attention, he could do without. Bristling, Dean straightened up, pulling Cas closer by the waist.

“Easy there, tough guy,” Castiel chided. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Feeling even warmer than before, Dean turned intense eyes on Cas.

“It’s been years, Feathers. _Years_. And even when it wasn’t, it was years and an ocean apart. Do you honestly think I am taking my hands off you any time soon?”

Dark eyebrows rose delicately at his vehement tone. 

“Unless you tell me to back off.”

Castiel squinted a smile at him, head tilted and the cute levels rose exponentially. His heart was pinballing in his chest, trying to get out, as if it wanted to make sure Cas was real this time around. When Cas rested a hand on his chest as if he sensed that very sentiment, things went quiet and Dean took him in, utterly mesmerized. All of him. Not just his physicality, but his presence.

“Are you? Telling me to back off?”

“Never.”

An almost sob of relief escaped him and he pulled Cas closer, beaming. “You came back.”

“I did.” His fingers trailing Dean's cheek, Castiel hummed, his eyes flicking across every inch of Dean’s face, clearly experiencing similar issues as Dean with regard to the reality of the moment. “So, umm, what do we do now?”

Dean grinned, unable to help himself, the wicked thoughts undoubtedly visible in the way he twinkled. “I have a tent.”

“Really? Could have fooled me,” Cas dead-panned.

Dean snickered, shaking his head, and cleared his throat, steering his mind out of the gutter.

“I really do have a tent here. But wanna go grab something to drink? Maybe eat? When did you land?”

Cas smiled at the barrage of questions being fired off. “We landed about two hours ago. Got here in the last half hour, so I got the whole show.”

Pleased with that, Dean wagged his eyebrows. “Oh, that’s just the start, honey.”

Alright, _almost_ out of the gutter.

“I’m sure it is,” Cas laughed. “So… food?”

Dean nodded, sliding at arm around Cas’ waist, stealing a look as he spoke. “Our official first date?”

“Is it?”

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him and was happy to see Cas hold his gaze, eyes wide and innocent in ways someone nearing 34 had no business being.

His lips parted, teasing the pink of his tongue, distracting him. They looked chapped, but they weren’t. They were soft and warm and pliant under his own, and whelp, his mind was going on a tangent, so he reeled it in when he noticed Cas’ eyes narrow at the forthright statement. Dean didn’t have it in him to worry about that. He knew Cas was potentially easy to spook, but he wouldn’t have returned on a whim either. Not to mention it wasn’t just Cas anymore. This was Feathers. His Feathers. Their foundation was a whole different ball game.

He pursed his lips at Cas, scanning their surroundings to cut himself a break from the ridiculously blue eyes. “Look, man… I can imagine you came here on a leap of faith, hell, maybe even the wings of an angel –“

“I’m not the one with those tattooed on their shoulders.”

“Granted - but I doubt you came here on a whim or a maybe.”

Castiel considered his words for a bit, chewing his lip. His face was a treasure for someone like Dean. An endless source of subtle rippling emotions and thoughts, especially now that his guard was down. Eventually he gave a slow nod. “I didn’t.”

“Excellent,” Dean smiled. “First date, it is.”

He hooked his fingertips in Castiel’s and with a delicate pop, their bubble burst as they rejoined reality. Dean had only eyes for Cas and was pleased to notice a similar attentiveness in him. Though in truth, it likely bordered on the obsessive and the incredulous. He wasn’t sure.

“Where to, Squirrel?”

“Hold on a damn minute! You thought you could sneak away?!”

“Balls!” Dean cursed, as Charlie pounced on his back, reaching over on either side of his neck and grabbed hold of Castiel’s lapels, pinning them together in an awkward threeway hug.

“What the actual bloody fuck?” Castiel yelped, staring at her over Dean’s shoulder.

“I don’t know how they fuck in Texas, cowboy, but if it’s bloody, see a doctor.”

“Unless you’re into that kind of thing,” Dean sighed, heading off the joke before she could land it.

“Spoilsport.”

He held onto Cas with one hand to stabilize the three of them, hooking a finger through his belt loop. The gesture distracted Cas, but not for long, as he continued to look at Charlie with wide eyes. Dean gestured in the limited space between them, pursing his lips to the point his cheeks hurt. “Charlie, meet Feathers. Feathers, _this_ is Charlie.”

“Hiya, Feathers,” Charlie smiled, her chin tucked on Dean’s shoulder. Her tone sounded genuine, at least, though Dean had no doubt why she was here. “So pleased to meet you and finally see real life proof you’re not a damn catfish!”

Castiel held onto him, his hands at Dean’s waist, visibly taken aback by the chaotic energy that was Charlie. “You’re not Undernet…” he trailed off, bemused gaze flicking from the hands fisted into his lapels back to the redhead on Dean’s back.

“Nope.”

“Charles, could you release your death grip of the man? He’s not going anywhere, he said so himself.”

“He fucking better not!”

“If he does, it’s because you fucking scared him off. Now get off my back, I’m not twenty anymore.”

Charlie blew a raspberry and accommodated the request, parking herself next to both of them. She was positively beaming. “Grumpy old man. Did you know, Cas?”

“Know… Know what?” Castiel asked as he smoothed out his trench coat.

Dean shot him an apologetic smile and tugged him closer by the hand, drawing what he hoped were soothing circles on the inside of his wrist. Judging by how Cas melted into his side, it worked. Partly. Cas’ face was doing something, which, after quick consideration, Dean realized had to be his head in the clouds at work. Or perhaps he was mentally running for the hills.

“That Dean’s a mighty grumpy old man in the morning, until he gets his coffee.”

Blinking a few times, Cas nodded and when he spoke, Dean heard an almost business-like tone seep in. “We mostly talked at night, but I seem to recall he mentioned his reliance on coffee to function as we grew older, yeah.”

“Huh,” Charlie mused. “Maybe it’s because he was always talking to you at such ungodly hours that he got addicted in the first place. You’re in for a surprise then.”

“I am?”

“Are you telling me you’re not staying over?”

Dean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Charles, I love you so much. You’re also being a terror. Excuse the unsubtle prodding, Cas. I guess some of her military upbringing stuck after all.”

“Oh, I can hack into his file, no worries. I’m the kid sister he never wanted, or so he claims.” She tilted her head, rolling her eyes. “As if. So I look out for him.”

Castiel looked from him to Charlie, and Dean watched the cogs in his head work. Suddenly, he shot Dean a bedazzling smile, the kind that lit up those equally bedazzling eyes, and oh, fuck, Dean was a goner when he heard the words.

“I look forward to seeing your grumpy self in the morning, Squirrel.”

“That’s what you take away from that?” he muttered. “She really can hack her way into your file.”

Cas shrugged, his mind clearly in other stratospheres. It was absolutely fascinating to observe in real life. The giddy feeling in Dean’s chest suggested he’d be experiencing this several times over in the coming hours… days, weeks if he was luckier still.

Charlie gaped. “Holy shit, he is for real.”

“I told you we were,” Dean said, recovering somewhat.

There was a string of past times he’d tried to convince both Sam and Charlie of how real it had been backing up those words, but he wasn’t sure she caught it.

Still, he flashed Charlie a shit-eating grin and planted a quick kiss to Cas’ temple, watching the way his face softened as he did. “Now, Queen of Moons, would you mind if we went on our first date?”

“Not at all, Sir Knight,” Charlie beamed. “You look like you might still bail, Cas.”

“I am still processing. Dean’s got a good grip on me, I think,” Cas smiled.

“Can I hug you?”

Castiel blinked a few times. Dean was happy to relive the first impression Charlie made on people, when she wasn’t harassing them. It was always amazing, despite the intense chaos.

“Sure,” he replied, voice soft.

Dean let go, smiling, as Charlie wrapped her arms around Cas’ waist and fit under his chin the same way she did with him. Castiel seemed to hesitate before he returned the gesture and she all but vanished in his trench. Dean frowned when he saw something akin to pain etched in the lines in Cas’ forehead and the way he squeezed his eyes shut. Letting a slow exhale out, he stored it away with everything he _didn’t_ know about Feathers. Thirteen years was a long time.

When she let go, Charlie punched him in the shoulder. “Have fun. Don’t make me put you in the stocks, aight?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my Queen,” Cas smiled. There was a touch of the innocent openness to his interaction that reminded Dean of their first meeting online.

“Ooh, I love a quick study.” She grabbed his face, smushing his cheeks slightly, causing Cas to widen his eyes in mild terror. “And please, please, please, make up for lost time.”

As she let go, Cas rubbed both cheeks with his hands, eyeing her unsurely. She pecked Dean on the cheek, whose heart swelled and ears burned at her request.

“I plan to,” he said, voice lower.

He watched with delight the effect that had on Cas, as he flustered. Charlie scoffed in good humour and walked off, quickly vanishing among the many tents and camps.

“Is she always like this?”

“She just needed to sniff out how real you are.”

Giving a brief nod, Cas looked at him, curiously expectant, head tilted, hair every which way. Unable to help himself, Dean stepped back into his space, cupping his face and kissed him once more, soft and gentle. Cas whined softly into his lips, hand fumbling to get a grip on Dean’s belt.

“We’re going to give everyone diabetes,” Cas mumbled.

“I don’t care. I’m probably halfway there anyway with all the pie I eat.”

“Still a sweet tooth?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Do they sell pies here?”

He stared into Cas’ eyes, his vision filled with nothing but impishly twinkling glorious blue.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

Cas made a show of slowly draping his arms across Dean’s upper back, the fingers of one hand drawing circles through the short hair at the back of his head. Pursing his lips, he gave Dean a considering look.

“Yes and no. As delectable as kissing you is, I believe we were on a path to food. We’ve been on a whirlwind trip there and back again.”

“You wanted… food? Are you sure?” Dean enunciated, drawing Cas’ eyes to his lips repeatedly. 

The cutest frown marred his forehead and he shook his head at Dean, stealing another kiss.

“Yes, Squirrel, I want food. And your company.”

“You shall have both, angel.”

Cas huffed a soft smile at the nickname. They fell into a slow saunter, shoulder to shoulder, their fingers entwined. They were inclined to hold still rather than break apart when people crossed their path. Dean realized they were both equally reluctant to leave any space between them.

“How does it compare to the ones at home?”

“What?”

“An SCA event like this.”

“I actually never attended one,” Cas said. “Wasn’t much of an outdoor kid, remember? Except for jogging when I got older.”

“You kept it up?”

“Only in recent years, though to be fair, I’ve been slacking lately. Too much other stuff on my plate with work and our father.”

Dean hummed, connecting the dots in his head. “How is Anna?”

Eyes crinkling, Cas smiled at him warmly. “She’s doing well, all things considered. Wheelchair bound, but living with her husband and when able, she advocates for research into her disease. She’s stable, mostly and happy. How is Sam?”

“Potentially doing unspeakables to your brother by now? I might have suffered full-blown tunnel vision the second I saw you.”

“I noticed,” Cas grinned. “And god, I hope not.”

“So Gabe was with you?”

“Oh, yeah. You definitely won the bet.”

“Come to think of it… What did I win?”

Castiel smirked, a subtle, dangerous uptick to one corner of his mouth. God, he was beautiful… 

“You know, we never established that.”

“I’m sure I can think of something,” Dean said, unthinking.

Castiel regarded him with such solemn curiosity, it had Dean’s heart flip-flopping in his chest. His lips pressed together as Castiel hummed, leaning closer, breath warm at the shell of his ear. “I look forward to hearing what you come up with.”

“And Luci?” Dean choked out.

Cas continued with perfect grace.

“He bowed out of this, and I quote,” Cas said, making quotation marks in the air, “‘annoyingly wholesome display of affection’.”

“Is that normal or is he upset?”

“Little bit of both. He was looking forward to this trip. We badgered him into calling us tomorrow, though I doubt he’s going to listen.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause he knows who we’re with and for all his bluster, he won’t want to impose. He’s secretly happy for us.”

“He’s always welcome to join, if he changes his mind. Between me, Sam and Charlie, we have room.”

The offer surprised Cas, if his stunned silence was anything to go by. Good. Let him realize how far Dean was willing to go.

“Here we are,” Dean sighed, inhaling deeply. He extended an arm at the view revealing itself before their eyes. “The food court. What’s your fancy? Apart from the obvious.”

Without missing a beat, Cas dead-panned, eyes squinting at the myriad of stalls and tents. “The obvious has a right mouth on him.”

“I sincerely hope you’re not surprised.”

“Not by a long shot,” Cas grinned, making eye contact. “I want something warm and tasty.”

Dean’s heart beat louder, watching him purse those sinful lips innocently. “Your summer is an insult to its Texan counterpart.”

Dean chuckled. “Cold feet?”

“Just you wait,” Cas said. “You’re gonna regret this. There!”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Dean muttered. “There, what?”

“I want the potato-veggie dish and the mead. Do we need medieval currency?”

Dean dug up a coin from his pouch and flicked it in the air with his thumb, catching it smoothly. “Got you covered.”

They got in line at the stall, their attention drawn to the people cooking food in the massive black cast-iron baking trays behind the counter. White clouds of smoke wafted up, as they moved the potatoes and vegetables around. Dean spotted the sausages and ribs.

“Meat too?”

Cas shook his head, swallowing down hard. “No, thanks, I’d prefer to spare my stomach for a bit.”

“Riiiight,” Dean said. “Cruise ships not your thing, huh?”

“Fucking shitballs, no, not one bit,” Cas said vehemently. “I haven’t puked that much in such a short span of time in my _life_.”

“So no boats and no planes. We aren’t going very far, it seems.”

“No planes?” Cas tilted his head, eyes widening when he remembered. “Oh, right, the heights!”

Dean hummed in confirmation.

Cas shrugged. “We might not need to travel far to find what we need.”

Leaning on the counter, Dean eyed him at those words. “Only about an ocean.”

Cas clicked his tongue, eyes travelling to the heavens as he contemplated it in silence. Looking away, Dean ordered two dishes, one with meat, one without, two meads and a bottle of water, in case Cas needed it. He counted the coins out of his pouch. Hands full, they oriented themselves.

“There. There’s a spot in the sun and the grass looks dry.”

Dean watched as Cas crossed his legs at the ankles and sank down onto the grass with enviable elegance. He’d lost some of his flexibility over the years.

“This isn’t our first date, by the way.”

“No?”

“No. We literally met at a speed date, Dean.”

“True, before we knew who we were.”

*

They shared a slice of blueberry pie together. Castiel watched with interest the live effects it had on Dean. The sounds he made were out of place in a public setting. Or maybe he was just annoyed he couldn’t draw more of them out of him by other means. The images that drew up were likely the cause for his blatantly obvious question.

“Did you say… you… had a tent here?”

For the briefest moment, a feral grin split Dean’s face, as he licked the tip of his tongue over his incisor. His eyebrows rose towards his hairline in an indulgently innocent way. “I did. Forwhy?”

He worked the last of the pie into his mouth, taking it slow. Castiel fluttered his lashes at him, unwilling to state the obvious and loving the way Dean responded to him. He leaned his face into both hands.

Dean jutted his chin out in a way Castiel was sure he would paint one day. “Enjoying the view?”

“And then some,” Castiel sighed. Okay, so maybe his filter was temporarily gone. “I’m allowed. The subject of said view is unlike anyone I’ve seen before, if somewhat mouthy. And I’ve dreamt him up for a while now.”

Dean’s breath hitched, his eyes softening, as he traced his thumb from the corner of his mouth over his lower lip and sucked the blueish crumbles into his mouth, pink tongue flashing. He lifted faux-innocent eyebrows at Castiel in the process, who licked his own reflexively. Dean flexed his jaw around his thumb. The suggestion behind it was enough to flush his cheeks warm. Castiel shot him a mock glare.

“You’re a tease, Dean.”

“Except this time around, I’ll follow through,” he winked coyly.

Castiel laughed, a most pleasant anticipation swirling under his sternum. The ease of being together was staggering. On a scale of a billion years to the present, he’d never believed a bond like theirs was possible. It shouldn’t be. Yet it was. 

Dean fit in so perfectly in this setting. Shoulders relaxed as he leaned his elbows on his knees. The lowering, pale London sun painted a halo behind him, setting the edges of his hair on golden fire. His earlier stray thought of wanting to paint Dean, but never being able to, lit back up. Possibilities. Castiel breathed them in eagerly, his brain flooding him with endorphins.

“Quickly becoming my favorite view too.”

Dean’s eyes practically glowed. In fact, Castiel was sure he was looking right at his soul, brightening him from the inside out. The teasing edge softened, as he reached for Cas’ knee. His thumb rubbed circles on the inside of his leg. “That makes two of us.”

Putting a twinkle in his eyes and a lilt in his tone, Castiel pressed his palms into the grass, as he rolled forward on his knees, stretching towards Dean. He felt the wings on his back shift and could barely imagine the view he presented to Dean. “Tent?”

Dean gaped, but recovered quickly enough. “Goddamnit, Cas, people our age shouldn’t be able to combine those levels of sexy and cute.”

“But we are. Because I am.”

Dean wrinkled his nose at him. “I’m more concerned with my own resistances crumbling at a ridiculously rapid pace.”

“Resistance?” Cas made a face, as if he had been fed something foul. “Don’t start holding back on me now?”

“Trust me, I’m not. Just acutely aware of the potential this has to…” Dean cut himself off and Castiel wanted to chase it down, but the next words distracted him. “You don’t want me pinning you to the grass here and now, do you?”

“How dare you?” Castiel said, faking affront. “You’ll ruin my wings. Which is why I mentioned the word tent three times in the past minute. Catch up, Squirrel.”

He grinned at the way Dean puffed up and rose to his feet in an instant. “Bossy, bossy,” Dean teased. “Or what was it you always used as an excuse? Impatient?”

Castiel let Dean help him to his feet. They tossed the cardboard plates and empty bottle in the right bins. “After 12 years, 11 months and an amount of days I’ve actually lost track of for the first time in forever, impatience fits the situation,” Cas said.

“You kept count too?” Dean asked nonchalantly.

Well, that was a punch to the gut. Castiel looked at Dean in desperation. He owed him so many apologies.

“What about these?” he asked instead, holding up the terracotta mug that was now emptied of mead.

“Paid extra for them.” Shaking the last drops of mead out of them, he tucked them in a large pouch at his waist.

“Then lead the way, good sir knight.”

Dean meandered them through the stalls and tents with ease, never once letting go of him. He could tell they were getting closer, because he pulled him in for kisses more often with every step. Frantic almost in the way they kept gravitating towards each other. The taste and scent of him, wrapping around Castiel, worked him up in glorious ways, even if he was still intensely aware of way too many people around them.

He held onto Dean stubbornly, while Dean tried to get the tent flaps to cooperate as he plundered his mouth with zeal. Castiel lapped up the deep muffled chuckle he was rewarded with. The first time around Dean’s flavour had taken him by surprise. For the simple reason that just because someone’s physicality and personality floated your boat didn’t mean their flavour suited your tastes. 

Dean tasted like he was designed for Castiel’s palette. He moaned when Dean succeeded at opening the tent and they tumbled inside, into blessed privacy.

“Holy shit, Dean, what the hell! I tied the damn tent flaps together for a fucking reason!”

They broke apart at the sound of the voice. The tone oozed grumpy sass. He looked to where Dean was staring.

Gabe straddling Sam, his shirt half torn off of him, pants undone. He tried not to see it, but yep, boner. Oh, two boners, as his eyes skimmed over Sam too. Thank fuck they didn’t arrive any later. He let out an involuntary curse and focused his attention on Gabe’s face. He had never seen his brother’s hair in such disarray. The next second Sam was manoeuvring Gabriel around and shielding him from view. The snicker that elicited from Gabe had Castiel following suit.

“Samshine, did you just try to protect my decency?”

Castiel laughed louder. “Oh, gods, that ship sailed and sank years ago.”

“So I gathered,” Sam said. “Still doesn’t mean my brother needs an eyeful of him.”

Next to him, Dean grinned wide. “Damn, Sammy, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Gabe poked his head around Sam’s shoulder, eyes narrowed to happy slits as he smiled. “What in him exactly?”

“Gabe,” Sam said warningly.

“This whole possessive thing he’s got going.” Dean waved a hand.

“You seem peculiarly unaffected by this, considering you were squeamish about them getting it on for a bet,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, well, we’re all a lot more familiar with each other than we thought the first time around, aren’t we? Big bag of dicks over there isn’t exactly a stranger.”

“Excuse me, what bet?” Sam asked.

“We bet on which of the brothers you’d go for. So I told Feathers you have a size kink.”

“How fortunate,” Gabriel smirked. “So do I.”

“Seriously, Dean? Why don’t you spread your own kinks rather than someone else’s?”

Castiel’s ears perked at that and he made eye contact with Sam, grinning. “Do tell.”

“You probably know half of them already,” Sam returned the grin. The way his eyes sparkled had Castiel thinking they’d get along splendidly. “He pretends he hates being bossed around and he loves wearing…”

“Alright, that’ll fuckin’ do, Sammy,” Dean said, pricking a finger at Sam, tone shifting into something darker that sent goosebumps across Castiel’s skin.

“I’ll let you know, Cassie,” Gabriel smirked.

“Don’t bother,” Castiel said, shrugging a delicate shoulder. “I’ll get it out of him myself.”

Dean’s freckles stood out gloriously against the blush that crept up his neck.

Sam guffawed at that, eyebrows shooting up as his eyes lit up. “Feathers! I like you. Good luck with that.”

“I could say the same to you for choosing my nightmare of a brother.”

Gabe’s features hardened slightly. “Cassie… weren’t you two on a particular type of path down each other’s throats?”

“Well, yes,” Castiel squinted at him. “But you’re here and incest is definitely not on our to-do list.” He quickly glanced at Dean. “It isn’t, right?”

Dean blanched. “Yes. I mean, no, it definitely isn’t on our list. What the…?”

It took him a second to realise his remark was entirely tongue-in-cheek. Dean huffed. He fidgeted with his belt and subtly palmed lower, frustration visible in the way his brow knit together and his jaw clenched.

“Same!” Sam said. “So get out. We were here first.”

It was almost a physical shove the way Sam stared them out of the tent and back outside, squinting in unison at the sun and the festival. Dean’s fingers brushed his, in search of contact.

“I’m not exactly sure how that dynamic is going to work, but I’m glad to see Sam’s feisty.”

“He can hold his own,” Dean said. “So… steed?”

Castiel stuttered around the word. “Steed? Are you trying to confuse me on purpose?”

“No, just checking how easily I can get your mind in the gutter.”

“Surprisingly easily, it seems, when it comes to you.”

“Let me take you home, Cas.”

The word ‘ _home_ ’ tugged at his center in a strange way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. How is everyone feeling after this one?


	30. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mouth went dry, his arms tightening around Dean’s chest, perhaps in search of a heartbeat to rival his own. He felt rather than heard the low rumble of Dean’s pleased laughter. A gloved hand closed over his. A distinctly medieval glove, which could not be regulation. What a sight they must be. A knight and an angel on a steed of steel. 

**London, 2014**

Castiel nosed into the back of Dean’s neck, inhaling the scent of leather and his musk. There was not an inch of space between them, Castiel’s body draped across his back, thighs straddling his ass. It all felt surreal, as Dean slowly meandered them through London traffic. His pulse quickened at the thought of what lay ahead and at the same time, he wanted to stay here, on Colt, in this suspended moment in time. He could feel it engraving itself into his soul. A story he would tell friends years from now when they’d ask how he and Dean found each other again. 

The innocent daydream was met with a gut punch comprehension at its inferences. His mouth went dry, his arms tightening around Dean’s chest, perhaps in search of a heartbeat to rival his own. He felt rather than heard the low rumble of Dean’s pleased laughter. A gloved hand closed over his. A distinctly medieval glove, which could not be regulation. What a sight they must be. A knight and an angel on a steed of steel. 

He closed his eyes, pressing closer to Dean, though it was near impossible. 

* 

The house was terraced, tucked deeper away from the street than the others, lending it a cosy nook kind of feel that was impossible in the wide state of Texas. Dean pulled Colt up on the small patio out front, kicking the stand out. Dean tapped him on the thigh, holding the bike in place, so he could get off safely, mindful of his coat and wings. 

He looked at the deep ochre brick contrasting with the pale lines of mortar, its dark blue, wooden shutters open and inviting. There was a colourful poster of a music festival on the inside of the window. A sturdy wintergreen slithered its way across the front of the house, draped in gorgeous angles around the windows on the upper floor. Everything connected and rooted into the English soil. 

Dean put the lock on Colt and walked them into the house. The hallway was narrower than he expected. He needed help taking his wings off, keenly aware of the proximity they were moving in. Personal space seemed to lose all meaning, even when they were not consciously trying. 

Dean’s gloves fell to the sturdy chest under the coat rack. His helmet went on the overhead. As he moved beside Dean to hang his trench next to the leather coat, his eyes fell to two framed pictures. It took a second, before his brain caught on, because they seemed so out of context here. Not out of place, but not within either, perhaps outside of time and space. His breath caught when he realized it was some of his oldest work. Castiel wasn’t sure he remembered where the originals were. 

He glanced aside to Dean, who pointedly kept his eyes glued to the two delicate frames. With a pained frown, Dean tried to slip his hands in his pockets, only to discover knights didn’t have those and he fidgeted, fingers rubbing together. When he looked at Castiel, he rubbed a hand on the back of his neck self-consciously, and there was a hint of shame in his eyes. 

“The only reason I’m not tripping myself up assuring you I’m not some creep who, in over ten years, refused to forget you is because I’ve seen your online portfolio.” 

Castiel’s chest bloomed warmly, the effects travelling from his chest to his neck. He huffed softly, looking back to the pictures. His mind supplied the realization that it was the one piece he’d redone every year and the one that went with the song Dean wrote him for his birthday in ‘98. He let out a shaky breath. 

“I thought you’d have moved on by now.” 

“I tried,” Dean admitted. 

The shrug tilted his shoulders in a vulnerable way. Castiel saw the memories reshaping his features, his eyes glazing momentarily. A surge of jealousy caught him off guard. Who was Dean thinking of? Who had been there when Castiel hadn’t? 

There was so much they didn’t know about each other. He suddenly didn’t know where to start, except that he wanted to. He wanted to know. As much as his heart could take. As much as his heart could give, because he was certain he wanted to share his own story. 

They moved to the end of the hallway, entering a small kitchen. Rustic, perhaps, but he instantly felt cocooned. Safe. Dean started puttering about, stealing glances at Castiel, who didn’t quite know what to do with himself. Because all his muscle memory supplied was ‘touch’, while his brain was being… well, his brain. 

So he leaned against the counter and observed. After all these years, he figured that was fair. His heart agreed, as it leapt at being given the chance to quietly observe and soak up the effects of Dean. He watched Dean’s broad hands handle the kettle and cups. Took in the gesture when he rolled his sleeves up, revealing golden hairs on naturally tanned skin. Dean held up a tin of coffee and a small wooden rack with glass vials of fresh tea, wiggling them in a silent question. 

Castiel pointed at the tea. Although it was still light outside, the curtains were drawn, presumably under the assumption that Dean would not have come home until a lot later. He wandered closer to Dean. 

“So did I,” Castiel said. 

He watched Dean’s eyes flicker, until he nodded in understanding, as he set the coffee aside and the tea on the counter. They had to wait for the water to boil. Dean reached out to him, Castiel’s eyes tracking the movement as he curled a finger through one of his belt loops. They were still at arm’s length, but the gesture was anchoring. Searchingly delicate in its simplicity. 

“Did it work?” 

Castiel shot him an indulgent look and relished how Dean shook his head once and laughed softly, revealing a perfect row of white teeth, his eyes crinkling. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Dean smiled. 

Castiel’s heart soared and shattered from one second to the next. He knew how much he’d been hurting these past years. To think the same happened to Squirrel was too much, especially since he was directly to blame for it. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Feathers.” 

Ah, shit. 

“Like what?” he asked, feigning ignorance. 

“Like I’m a broken little rodent,” Dean said, a steely glint in his eyes. “You may have noticed a fair circle of people around me.” 

“True,” Castiel smiled. “And I’m glad for it. I wish I’d had the chance to meet them, knowing who they were.” 

Dean grinned, wolfish, vibrant. “That would have been a different kind of party.” 

He gave the notion curious thought, remembering how the party had gone and imagining what could have been, had they known. Whatever showed on his face had Dean schooling his features in a way Castiel recognized by now. It was the diligence he’d been supplying him with since they met at the convention. 

Gratitude warred with something else, a mutiny of sorts. Because he was grateful when Dean, the perfect stranger who rode into his life straddling Colt, had extended him such graces. But now that he knew Dean was his Squirrel, he didn’t want him looking at Castiel that way. Like he’d break if Dean wasn’t careful. 

The kettle shivered when its content boils, but they ignored it. 

His voice dipper lower in warning. “Dean…” 

Gorgeous green eyes met his immediately and Castiel allowed himself a smile. The effect of his voice was not lost on him, but to see Dean respond to it like he was born to was heartwarming. 

“I know you’ve been reading me eerily well, but there’s something you need to know.” 

He mirrored Dean’s gesture, sliding three fingers between his belt and jeans. Swallowing hard, he savored the way Dean’s jaw clenched, the softness in his eyes heating up into something darker as his eyes fell to Castiel’s hand and lingered on his face. 

“I’m not made of glass, Squirrel.” 

He tugged Dean closer, who licked his lips as he spoke. “Tell me I read you wrong.” 

“You didn’t,” Castiel said, “But that was before I knew who you were.” 

“Meaning?” 

“Meaning that I was unsure whether I could trust Dean, but I _know_ I can trust Squirrel.” 

“That simple?” 

Castiel wanted. With a zeal he hadn’t felt in years. He wanted in the purest sense of the word, for the sake of a kindred spirit’s soul. Dean. Squirrel. The years between them stretched back to a different era, when he was just a kid, bumbling his way across the frozen plains of his own weird soul, puberty, sexuality, and a dysfunctional family. For one who always stood on the outside looking in, these depths of genuine connection tied his past to his present, securing something in place he couldn’t name. But he felt it, that fragility solidifying now that he was alone with Squirrel for the first time, in the flesh, with no one else around. 

“Dean,” Castiel said on an exhale. “I won’t break under your touch, I promise, and I really, _really_ want to feel your touch. You. All of you.” 

Dean studied him openly, while he said the words, whatever accompanying thoughts he had firing at lightning speed. His eyes were hooded with a warm intensity, that sent Castiel’s heart pin-balling through his rib cage, every thump jolting anticipation to other parts of his body. Dean’s finger stuck in his belt loop, his fingers crooked behind Dean’s belt, the space between them charged with every passing second. 

Castiel’s breath hitched, when he saw Dean’s perfect lips part to inhale with a stutter and he hoped. He was holding back on the extent to which Dean-as-Squirrel affected him. He wanted to see and experience firsthand if this wild, hopeful feeling was as mutual as he’d always dreamt it to be. 

A flame ignited in Dean’s eyes, as he looped his other index finger into his belt. It was a slow kind of burn, the way embers pulse under a gust of breath, temporarily doused by the way Dean licked his lips. He moved, tugging Castiel forward in the same second, and gave it time. 

Time to see each other, as they closed the distance. Castiel drank in the broad angles of his face, the dusting of freckles, the golden specks in his bright green eyes and the curve of those lips… He revisited speed date-Dean and every daydream - romantic and fevered - he ever had, sliding the pieces into place with the reality now at his fingertips. Warm-blooded, strong, present. The end result bloomed into an aesthetic in its own right. Dean. 

Time to feel each other, as they slowly found more points of contact. His hand stayed at Dean’s belt, his thumb tracing his soft stomach through the leather. He smiled at the memory there. His other hand rested at Dean’s waist, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to find a point of entry. Because he wanted more. Thighs met, a teasing hint of what was to come, as Dean’s hand glided from his belt loop to the small of his back and pulled. 

He could feel Dean’s warm strength seeping through every inch where they touched. Though he wondered how much of that was his imagination, as Dean was wearing scale mail. Dean’s breath puffed out against his lips, life-giving in its intensity. Castiel experienced a head rush at what came next. He smiled, a soft crook of his mouth, when they found each other’s eyes. 

“Hello, Squirrel.” 

Their foreheads touched, as Dean leaned in. Dean’s hands snuck their way up across his chest, leaving warm ghost prints where they had been. They slipped to either side of his neck, a small shake to them that had Castiel smiling wider, though his own breathing betrayed him. His exhale turned to a shiver when two large hands cupped his face. 

“Heya, Feathers.” 

The world fell away when their lips met, a spark lighting the embers into a slow gas burn, flames erupting across his skin. Castiel whimpered into the sensation, gripping Dean tighter. Wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, relishing the feel of his soft hair through his fingers. Tilting his head, Dean worked his jaw, tongue lapping at Castiel’s lower lip. A blazing wet trail that had a direct line to his groin. With a greedy moan, he opened up, in search of Dean’s warmth and flavor. Tingles fanned out from their lips, dancing across his senses, leaving invisible footprints on his skin. 

A low sound, akin to a growl, emanated from Dean under his touch. He backed Castiel into the counter. He spread his legs on instinct and Dean moved with him, equally intuitive, smooth, lifting him almost without effort. An intoxicating feeling came over him at the feel of Dean’s strong hands digging into his thighs and the ease of the moment. He curled around him, trying to stay as close as he could. 

Dean broke their kiss, drawing a destitute protest from him. He allowed it when he heard the soft-spoken reassurances and the next moment, Dean’s hot mouth travelled down to his jaw, nipping at his neck and collarbone. At this angle, Castiel was looking down at Dean, finding a pair of sultry, green eyes gazing up at him through long lashes. The shine to those eyes might as well be his soul, Castiel mused, for all the bright power behind them. Like looking at the sun without the urge to look away. To think he missed out on this for _years_ … 

His nervous system fired up more, Dean zoning in on soft spots without fail. He rolled his head back, smacking into the overhead cabinets. His eyes flew open. He breathed through the laughter, as he wrapped his legs around Dean and pulled them together. On a pleased hitch of a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut when Dean’s dick pressed hard against his own. 

Dean nosed into his neck, sweet, gentle, insistent. His lips were moving and Castiel strained to hear, sliding his hand through Dean’s hair, but he failed to catch their meaning. Perhaps it was another language altogether. A warm hand snuck under his shirt and he writhed, wanting those hands higher, harder. The pressure of Dean’s tongue on his neck had him stringing together incoherent words. 

“Oh, good God, please, yes, god, more…” 

Dean smiled against his skin, breath ghosting out in brief bursts. There was a delicious hoarse timbre to his voice, when Dean spoke, so audibly affected. It partly gave Cas the confirmation he hungered for. 

“Just Dean will do.” 

Apparently he never lost any of his cockiness. Castiel loved it, laughed his way through a blissful whimper when Dean sucked down on his neck harder.

“You ass… Keep going, _Just Dean_ , I want…”

He huffed, writhing under Dean’s tongue, and turned his head for two reasons: providing Dean with better access, and to get his lips on him. He breathed him in, his scent all sunlight and sweat, a soft purring sound at Dean’s ear, as he rolled his hips. The effects of the sound wracked a shiver through Dean’s frame. Content, he hummed a chuckle and nipped at the soft flesh of his earlobe, pulling it between his teeth.

Dean hissed in appreciation. Warm hands tugged at his shirt and began a slow trajectory, taking him apart with each button that got undone. Dean crowded him, holding his gaze, as he peeled the shirt over one shoulder. His green eyes darkened with desire and adoration so powerful, He had to breathe deeper to stay still within his gaze.

Dean leaned back, taking in the view of him and tilted his head up at him, soft lips parted. His breathing sped up for a moment, as Dean bent forward, planting a kiss over his heart. And another. Soft, reverent kisses, muttering his name in between. When Dean finally reappeared, he breathed in his exhale, tasting him. His eyes stung when too many feelings were loosened into the moment and his heart.

“Dean… I forgot it could be like this, it feels so… so good, Squirrel…”

At seeing his expression, Dean’s eyes widened. His tone turned honeyed, as he dragged his fingers through his hair in a gesture so deeply loving, like he was cradling the most precious treasure in the world. He blinked through sudden tears.

“Oh, fuck… _Feathers_ , Cas, you are perfection… I got you, honey.”

A glorious moan escaped him, the words making his heart soar. He surged forward to capture Dean’s lips, slipping off the counter. Dean instantly held him up by the hips, hands palming his ass cheeks. The deep rumbling chuckle he let out vibrated through both of them. Leaning back with an impish smile Castiel pulled the tie from under his collar, leaving it on, as he shook off the shirt.

“We need more room,” Dean growled.

“I need you,” he whispered. “Don’t let go.”

Why it was so easy to speak these words, when barely more than a few days ago he’d been hiding in his bed was beyond him. It seemingly took Dean off guard and he mouthed at his lips, the skin catching between his teeth. Dean pressed their mouths together in a closed-lipped kiss, as he put his palms to both sides of his face.

“Unless you tell me to back off,” Dean breathed through fevered butterfly kisses across his face and neck, provoking giggles, “I am never letting go.”

He cupped a hand behind Dean’s head, baring his neck to him, smiling as he surrendered. “Let me down and show me where there’s more room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More cuddles incoming. And, y'know, other stuff. *squints sweetly*
> 
> Let me know, darlings.


	31. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sat up on his knees, straddling Cas, undulating his hips languidly. Cas hissed, the tip of his tongue protruding between his teeth. Then his face shifted to mesmerized as he started unclasping his belt buckle.
> 
> “This is new,” Cas sighed, voice soft with wonder.
> 
> “Hmm? Oh… The outfit,” he smiled. “I’m going to need your help with it.”
> 
> “Yes,” Cas nodded emphatically.

**London, 2014**

Dean scoffed softly at the words. “Nu-uh,” he mumbled up at Cas, smiling. “You said not to let go.”

“You are not carrying me through that narrow hallway up any stairs.”

With a flash of a grin, he nipped at his lips, wanting to taste him. “I could.”

“I’m sure,” Cas said, tone shifting from indulgent to bossy. “Put me down. Lead the way. You’re testing my patience.” 

He fluttered his lashes at the lure in Cas’ determined tone. Obliging, he set him down carefully. Inching closer to Cas, he reached for the door handle behind him. He smirked as their lips brushed together, Cas’ eyes twinkling, while he leaned backwards. The sound of the door creaking open got them moving down said narrow hallway, maintaining some form of contact all the way up the stairs to his room.

Which was a bit of a mess.

_Shit…_

He had time for exactly that one thought, before his arms were full of Cas once more. Cas, who thankfully had his priorities straight. No holding back, lips claimed his, tongue flicking out to beg for entrance.

 _Yes, oh, yes, a thousand times yes_.

Dean slid his hands up Cas’ bare back, whimpering into the kiss. Cas tasted faintly of mead and smoked vegetables, and something that fired up the addictive parts in his brain. He walked him backwards towards the side of the bed, until the back of Cas’ legs bumped into it. Next thing he knew, he was being pulled down, as Cas let himself fall backwards, arms wrapped firmly around his neck.

“Cas!” he exclaimed into the kiss. “My chain mail…”

He splayed out his arms wide, catching himself and hovered over Cas, gazing down in mild disbelief. Cas smiled up at him, seemingly unaware of the dead weight that almost landed on top of him. Impish, was the word, with a generous sprinkling of hot. And amazing. And gorgeous. And god, he wanted every inch of space between them gone. Filled by their warmth, their bodies.

And he was sure he never wanted to let Cas go.

He shifted his weight onto his elbow, freeing up a hand, and curled his fingers around the blue fabric splayed on Cas’ chest. Tugging at the tie that was still around Cas’ neck, he smiled softly as he leaned in. Cas met him halfway, pulling him closer still. He let out a blissed sigh when a leg slipped between his and Cas put pressure on his dick.

“Mmh, Dean…” Opening his eyes, he was rewarded with Cas pouting, brow furrowed in frustrated discontent, his hands tugging at his leathers. “Too many clothes.”

He sat up on his knees, straddling Cas, undulating his hips languidly. Cas hissed, the tip of his tongue protruding between his teeth. Then his face shifted to mesmerized as he started unclasping his belt buckle.

“This is new,” Cas sighed, voice soft with wonder.

“Hmm? Oh… The outfit,” he smiled. “I’m going to need your help with it.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas nodded emphatically.

He lowered the belt with its pouches gingerly next to the bed to avoid breaking the mugs. Cas’ eyes skittered across his frame, as they wordlessly went about getting his leathers off him. They were well-used and gave way smoothly enough. The chain mail forced him to get back to his feet. Their attention shifted with the focus necessary to get Dean out of it, the metal clinking in the quiet. The last layer, a light linen shirt, he removed without so much as a smidge of elegance or patience left. Dean felt his hair stand on end in the process. He tossed the shirt aside and found Cas’ eyes on him.

For a moment, Cas sat still on the edge of the bed, the chain mail in his hands. Cas gazed at him. He felt the warm, looming threat of a full body blush as those impossible blues caressed his skin. His heart thudded louder, as he held quite still, leaning into the loving scrutiny. He took the chain mail from Cas and put it aside on the chest at the end of his bed. The whiff he caught of himself reminded him he really needed a fucking shower. He looked away to the hallway. The fire in his veins disagreed vehemently with the distraction. The lure of Cas, half-naked in his bed, more so.

“Squirrel?”

“Want to take a shower with me, Feathers? Cause this isn’t right.”

He gestured at himself. Cas’ eyebrows shot up, a peculiar blend of shy sass oozing into his expression. His voice was just north of a hoarse whisper. “It feels right to me…”

Ducking his head cutely, Cas held his eyes as he slipped the blue tie off. When his hands made to unbuckle his own belt, he stepped forward, closing his hands over Cas’. Leaning back a smidge, Cas bared his throat at him to give him the space. He nipped at his lips, as they undid Cas’ belt together, breaths falling in the space between them. With his entirely-superfluous-but-I-want-to-touch-you help, Cas rose, his pants dropping to the floor. God, this was all kinds of beyond his imagination, he thought, as he shimmied them chest to chest and cupped Cas’ ass. A pleased hum at his ear had him hiding his face in Cas’ neck, licking a warm trail as Cas wrapped his arms around him.

“I can’t focus,” he panted.

Because he really couldn’t. His hand hovered over Cas’ cock through the fabric of his boxers. Palming down the hard length of him, he delighted in the way Cas’ exhale came rougher. He made a soft wanting sound, which got Cas to nose at his cheek, chuckling softly. 

“Welcome to my world.”

“You seem quite on the ball, pun maybe intended.”

Cas groaned, rolling his eyes at him adoringly. He chuckled and stole a quick kiss, curling his fingers into Cas’ to guide them to the bathroom. But Cas resisted. When he looked back, eyebrows expressing a question, Cas ducked his head, eyes skittering away and back, as if worried to speak his mind. The contrast with seconds ago was stark and had him stepping closer, an instant worry working its way to the front of his mind. He entwined their fingers and planted a kiss on Cas’ cheekbone. The way he inched towards him, into his arms, tugged at Dean’s heart strings. He wished his wings were real, because he’d wrap Cas up in them in a heartbeat.

“Cas?” He tucked his chin to look at him.

Some of that initial vulnerability bled through and he sensed the shift in mood. When Cas schooled his features as best he could, he pulled him in closer. _None of that._ He nudged two fingers under Cas’ chin gently.

“Talk to me, Feathers.”

Blue eyes widened and for a second, he feared he’d done something wrong to chase him off. The thought that Cas might slip away from him had his mind reeling and a different kind of heartbeat picked up. Then Cas blinked at him in seeming surprise, as if realising who he was with.

“I… I could use a moment. Is it okay if I stay here? For a bit?”

Appalled at the fear pounding through him, he took a deep breath to collect himself. He squinted at their surroundings, looking for a point of focus and found plenty in the proof of his own sloppiness. “Only if you promise not to clean up my mess.”

Cas bestowed him a sweet smile. “Promise I’m only gonna warm the bed.”

“Okay. Or do you wanna freshen up? Not shower, just freshen up.”

“That’s maybe not a bad idea.” Cas rubbed his fingers to his forehead, visibly irritated with himself. “Except I brought _nothing_ , but the clothes I had on me. And I seem to have lost some of those on the way.”

Dean thought he was staring, disbelief and endearment surely vying for dominance in his expression.

“I may have been in a hurry,” Cas squinted at him.

“For a good cause,” he smiled. “So where’s your luggage?”

“In the trunk of our rental, which I’m going to assume Gabe is keeping track of? He may or may not be still in that tent.”

He laughed softly. “You Novaks are weird, but I love it. Alright, come on, I got you covered.”

This time Cas allowed himself to be pulled along and he lead him to the bathroom. He shelved the overwhelming fear that had almost swept him off his feet. It was a raw nerve and it didn’t take a genius to figure out where it came from. How it would behave in the face of his rapidly changing reality was another matter. A matter for another day, if he could help it.

He flicked on the light, that hummed to glaring life. Silent, he got out a towel, a wash cloth and spare toothbrush. Immediately his gaze was caught on all the things out of place. He started rearranging stuff, clearing up some room for Cas. It was all too easy.

“There. Take your time.” He made to turn away, but Cas grabbed his lower arm.

Cas’ expression turned softer, as he eyed him. “You don’t need to go. I mean…”

His voice faltered and Cas squinted at the sink. Cas started unpacking the toothbrush and searched for the toothpaste. He handed it to him from among his bottles and tubes, letting his fingers slide up Cas’ arm after. The way he carried himself had him sighing in wonder at how this moment was rolling like waves on a Scottish beach.

He didn’t mind. Any of it. Whatever just happened in Cas’ mind, he needed some time, which Dean would give him. If he also didn’t want Dean to leave, he wouldn’t. So he stood beside the tub and ran the water. It always took its sweet time warming up. He got fully undressed, perfunctory this time. Nevertheless, Cas’ brushing movements stuttered to a distracted halt when he did so.

He wanted his Feathers at ease, in part to reassure himself as well. So he meandered through the vibe intuitively, nose to the ground. Cocking one amused eyebrow, he shot Cas a kissy face in the mirror. A messy snort was his reward, while he stepped into the tub, sliding the shower door halfway closed. The hot water was instant bliss, drawing an involuntary groan from him. Cas took another few minutes, rinsing his mouth and freshening up. His eyes fell shut as he wiped the warm cloth down his neck. When he was done, Cas lingered, body language betraying a sense of loss, angling towards Dean. So he leaned out of the shower, water dripping down his jaw, chest and arm to the ground. He reached for Cas, his own senses on edge.

“Feathers, c’mere.”

Cas obliged, his expression shifting to bright and focused in the bathroom light. Dean gently caressed his jaw with his knuckles, sliding his hand around to the back of his head. His wet fingers caught lightly in the soft strands of dark hair. He watched the effect of it soften Cas’ features, eyelids fluttering. He placed a closed-mouthed kiss on his lips. “If you fall asleep, I’m not waking you up.”

With a rough exhale through his nose, Cas glowered at him fondly. Tilting his head up, Cas grabbed his face and kissed him again, quick and deep. Destitute almost, which hit too close to his own feelings. Another heave of emotions had him struggling to keep his balance. Tried to settle the rolling waves inside him. Cas stepped back, thumbs grazing his scruff.

“I have no intention of falling asleep, Squirrel.”

Cas pecked another kiss to the corner of his mouth and left. With a sigh, he straightened up. He rolled his head back, his neck cracking, and caught the water on his face, as he rubbed his hands through his hair. His mind was tired. His muscles whined at him for his earlier, somewhat reckless, SCA activities, which might just be catching up to him. That just wouldn’t do. Not today. He upped the temperature of the water and willed excess issues to wash away down the drain. Softly, he hummed Feathers’ song.

*

Castiel scoffed quietly while he closed the bathroom door behind him. As if he was going to fall asleep in his current mindset.

He just needed a moment. To look. To feel. To hear. To scent. To breathe. To get a taste. He smiled at that and licked his lips. Touched them, as he smiled. He wondered if he smelled like Squirrel by now. His soul was in two very different minds. Cause being in this house, Squirrel’s house, was all kinds of overwhelming. It had him traveling the long road of memories. And then there was Dean, who moored him in the present. His senses were vibrating at a ridiculously high frequency from the effect of the past hours alone.

He returned to the bedroom, wanting to make a beeline for the bed. Instead he looked around. He pursed his lips, amused at Dean’s clear embarrassment about the mess. It wasn’t that bad, he thought. He noted two bows and a crossbow hanging above the dresser. A large frame holding a hand-written poem, accompanied by what looked like Indian ink line art above the bed. A tall wooden-framed mirror in the corner, clothes draped over the sides.

He picked up a stray shirt off the ground, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. Dropped it in an open hamper, sliding a finger over the smooth wooden edge. He turned on the lamp on the dresser, casting the room in a warm glow. The curtains looked heavy and soft, blocking out the world. Sitting down on the bed, he instantly flopped backwards, allowing his mind the space to expand around his blurred reality. The heat under his sternum coiled, warming his heart and reaching out to the extremities of his splayed limbs. His soul seemed to want to tremble out of his skin. His fingertips itched. He rubbed them into the soft cotton sheets.

Castiel smiled as he listened to the steady sound of running water. Wider still when he heard Dean singing, though it was too faint to make out the lyrics or the song. But he knew the melody like he knew his own hands and how they moved intuitively over paper or canvas. He inhaled sharply at the way a tightness inside him unfurled, loosening up his doubts and fears. They seemed to melt away as hope soared. A surge of deep-seated contentment washed over him.

Quickly followed by an almost intoxicating desire.

Intrigued by the feelings setting free what felt like a mass of butterflies fluttering around his heart, Castiel let out a shaky breath. He stared at the ceiling, sinking into sheets that smelled like Dean, surrounded by objects that were his and encased in a house that was his. Steeped in Dean. _Squirrel_. His eyes fluttered shut once more. Squirrel was on the other side of the wall. Showering. Singing his song. There was no ocean between them. No misunderstandings. No families. Castiel ran his fingers through his hair, exhaling slowly, letting the realisation sink into his bones, his muscles. Allowed memories to flood his system, rearrange themselves with the impressions of the past week.

He wanted this. He wanted Dean. His kisses. His touch. His dick. His time. His wit. His brazenness. Everything.

Castiel let his hands slide down his neck. Reliving sensations. The mild sore spot on the back of his head. The feel of Dean’s lips on his skin. The beginning of stubble-burn on his skin. He surrendered to a unique blend of imagination and memory, the way he had countless times before, now fitting those pieces together with reality. Imagined Dean leaning over him, kissing and biting his way down his neck. Teasing his nipples. Fingers digging into his hips. Those beautifully curved lips around his dick. That familiar, deep voice filling the air around him with delightful sounds. Praising him the way he had in the kitchen. Cas plucked at his left nipple, moaning softly. His other hand moved lower and he palmed his rapidly growing erection. Fingers slid beneath the band. He dug his heels into the mattress to push himself to the middle of the bed and bucked into the circle of his hand.

It was a slow, lazy stroke. Meant for pleasure. To indulge. Chase the vibrant visuals, the powerful feeling, waiting for Dean to return. To find him like this. His brain lit up at that thought. The sound he made was louder, higher, as he stroked himself. His cheeks heated up, along with the blooming craving in the pit of his being.

“Squirrel,” he moaned with abandon into the empty room.

So he thought.

He hadn’t heard the water stop running. Of course he hadn’t. The cards for perception were stacked against him on a good day. Surrendering like this, he stood no chance. His eyes flew open when the mattress dipped with an added weight and his view was filled with Dean. Strong arms flexed on either side of him as he hovered over him. Dean’s scent, spiked by the tinge of soap, wafted around him. His hair outlined wild against the soft glow of the light. The set-up was so close to his vivid imagination, Castiel groaned around a low-voiced exhale, his free hand shooting out to splay on Dean’s chest, fingertips curling in like a cat’s claws.

Dean’s eyes were wild, darkened, his breath coming rapidly. His voice, debauched in its need, vibrated through every cell in Castiel’s body when he said his name. Just his name.

“Feathers…”

Dean didn’t seem to know where to look. His gaze, heated pools of green, skittered from Castiel’s face, to his chest, down to his hand in his boxers. It should probably make him blush, but the effect was the exact opposite. He relished the feel of those eyes on him, watching him jack off and the energy coming off Dean.

“Got distracted thinking of you,” he said on an impish, whispered smile.

Dean let out a possessive growl, dipping his head lower as he god-fucking-damn _inhaled_ Castiel. The slant of his shoulders gave him an almost predatory look that sent jolts of desire through Castiel. The hint of warm skin teased his own and he arched his back. Castiel mewled through a pleased hum, when Dean moved his leg between his, pressing down on his dick. He snatched his hand out from his boxers, wanting to feel Dean. All of him. He slid his hands up Dean’s chest, twisting both nipples between his fingers gently. A mere tease, which succeeded at drawing a ravenous sound from Dean. Curled his hands around his shoulders to the back of Dean’s neck and pulled him down. Dean moved with the gesture fluidly, covering him with his body. He whimpered, when their lips met, warm and wet. He opened up, plunging his tongue in Dean’s mouth, brain aglow with stars at the tingling sensations.

Castiel wrapped his arms around him. Entwined their legs and rolled his hips, all semblance of caution out the window. Sweat was breaking out over his skin. Dean’s big hands pressed down on his hips, fingertips digging in. They slid up, catching on his flesh, Dean’s breath ragged near the shell of his ear. When Dean bent low and sucked his nipple into his mouth, a shameless sound was drawn from him. He arched up into the touch. Teeth grazed the bud, rolling it gently until Castiel hissed when it hit the right side of stinging. Immediately he was rewarded with the flat of Dean’s hot tongue licking the sensitive pebble of skin. He alternated, graze-lick-roll-lick, until Castiel was a horny, writhing mess beneath him.

He hooked his legs around Dean, using the strength of his thighs to draw him closer in search of friction. There was space between them. He didn’t want space between them. He curled his hand at the back of Dean’s head, carding his fingers through the hedgehog-like short, still damp, hair. He kissed at the soft spot behind Dean’s ear, licking a trail up the shell. A shiver wracked through Dean’s strong frame.

Castiel nosed at his cheek. Nipped at his lower lip, giving it a broad lick. Dean’s breath mingled with his as they rutted against each other, finding a natural, smooth sync.

“Cas, I want you… so much,” Dean panted. “I never thought… I’d find you again.”

Dean’s hands butterflied a frame around his face, expression as open and unguarded as Castiel had ever seen him. Somehow something had shifted into distinctly sensitive territory. Dean’s brazen confidence was a given, but he knew the depths of him better than most. The sight twisted his heart into all kinds of knots. He needed Dean, his Squirrel, to understand. To the core of his bright soul.

“Dean,” he whispered. “I’ve dreamt of you, of us… more times than I can remember. I’ve dreamt up lives. What could have been. For us. More than I care to admit. Dreamt of so much more."

Dean touched his face, soothing him immediately. “We’re here. I’m here.”

He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. Why did he make everything feel so simple? So crystal clear-cut?

“Stay close,” he pleaded. “Closer. Don’t let go.”

“Never.”

Castiel sighed happily at the promise in those words. Felt the swirling need in both of them.

“More,” he breathed out. “Give me more, Dean.”

“Everything,” he mouthed against the pulse beating fast in Castiel’s neck, stubble grazing his skin.

Teeth grazed across his wildly beating life line. Dean sucked down hard, Castiel bucking into him. The path Dean mapped out across his chest and abdomen had him delirious. Skill was one thing and only half the work, potentially even less. Having the one person in the world he ever felt truly, genuinely connected to explore him like long lost treasure, marking him with every touch… every gesture a kind of worship, a line of poetry, a melody sung to his soul, Castiel was lost and found in the same brittle moment.

Dean nosed at the soft flesh of his inner thigh. His forehead smoothed out in wonder the second Dean settled fully between his legs. Making grabby hands around him, he had barely enough time to get a hold of a pillow before he moaned, loud and filthy, as Dean breathed a hot, wet trail over the tendon in his groin.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he exhaled, rolling his head back against the sheets.

He dug one hand into Dean’s hair, gripping at the longer strands eagerly, when Dean took him deep into his mouth in one surprising move, then shifted his approach to slow, teasing licks.

“Fuck me…”

Panting, he tried not to chase the sinful, blessed warmth of Dean’s mouth, but failed miserably, apologizing for it desperately in the same breath. A wet sound followed, when Dean popped his lips off of his dick with a chuckle. With practiced gestures, he jacked Castiel off slowly. Head swimming, Castiel looked down, licking his lips. His throat felt sensitive from his rapid breathing already, unable to stop the soft sounds escaping him.

“After, honey,” Dean promised, voice thick. “Cas, you taste too good.”

He flustered, as Dean swallowed him as far as he could. A lewd cry was torn from him, Dean speeding up his pace. His tongue swirled his tip next, his throat working around him and for a while, his awareness was limited to this, the two of them, this blessed physical experience that was at once so much more.

“Oh, God, Dean!”

Warm, slick fingers slid between his ass cheeks. He had no fucking clue when Dean had slicked his hand up with lube, but that shouldn’t be a surprise. He almost sobbed when Dean teased his sensitive rim. Dean gently pushed at it, as he licked around the head of Cas’ cock and his blood was on fire. Breathing hard, Castiel slammed both hands into the mattress, finding little to no actual purchase.

“Dean! I… can’t…”

Moving them both to accommodate the barely there appeal, swift and smooth, without letting Castiel slip from his mouth, Dean pushed his legs wider. Castiel let them fall. Strong hands anchored around his hips, blocking him in. There was no escape from his wickedly talented tongue and mouth. Castiel sighed as he surrendered, squeezing down on the pillow with all his might. He looked down at Dean, delirious, chest heaving.

“Ahhh, please… don’t stop.”

Dean smiled around his dick. A saucy wink followed that sent Castiel through a deep laugh, which deteriorated into a long, blissed-out exhale of Dean’s name, when the tip of Dean’s finger dipped in and out of him. Teasing him to the brink, as he bobbed his head faster, then slowed down again, holding him in this sweaty, quivering moment. He didn’t have the words to ask for anything, merely surrendered to Dean, working him up and retreating. The hum of his voice jolted through him and he lost some control over what his hips were doing when Dean pushed him closer to the edge a third time. His toes curled and his muscles trembled, betraying him. He whispered a desperate warning.

“Close… Dean, I’m going to…”

Rather than letting go, Dean doubled down, sliding two fingers inside. The way Dean moaned wantonly around his cock, sound thick with pleasure, he wished he could get his hands on Dean’s dick in return. The sentiment was short-lived. Moaning, he dug both hands into Dean’s hair, hips bucking. Dean’s throat seemed to be made for him, the way he contracted around him, sucked him down. When his fingers sank deeper into him, Castiel lifted partly off the bed with a soundless cry. His release came as a blinding hot white filling his vision behind closed eyelids. Waves of pleasure washed over him and Dean worked him through each one, swallowing every drop of him, until he sagged back into the mattress. His heartbeat pounded through him, tuning out the world.

He reached down blindly. He carded a grateful hand through Dean’s hair, just as he heard the wet sound of Dean releasing his softening dick.

“I tried to warn you,” he muttered.

He fought to open his eyes and sent Dean a warm look. The sight hovering above his groin was debauched. Dean licked a drop of semen off the Cupid’s bow of his top lip. His hair was a blessed mess. His hands were folded around Castiel’s thighs like a vice. Claiming. Castiel noticed several dark spots where he’d sucked on his skin. Marked him.

“And I had no intention of not having you come in my mouth,” Dean said, as he sat up.

His face contorted into a grimace at hearing how gravelly he sounded. He reached for his throat and cleared it. Glancing further down, he caught a glimpse of Dean’s erection, felt the cooling of his pre-come on this leg. The flames of his need fanned instantly, reaching higher, burning hot and urgent. Too much distance. He wanted to feel Dean’s heart beating close to his. He bared his teeth as he spoke.

*

“Dean, I need you. Now.”

Dean looked down at Cas, spread-eagled against his sheets and found blazing blue eyes trying to will him into… something. His voice dipped deeper. The tone made it a direct order. Dean blinked in wonder, as he licked his lips again, the tang of Cas’ semen still on his tongue. His heart was pounding and his head was in a pleasant buzz, because of the damned obvious. But that tone...

For all that was vulnerable and cautious and kind and so easily distracted about Feathers, Dean realised his core held unyielding steel. A strength that was belied by a lot of layers. Whether it had always been there or if he had been forced to learn some of it the hard way, Dean couldn’t say. Not yet. The need in Cas’ voice went beyond the physical. It echoed his own, a writhing yearning in the pit of his being. Dean felt it in the way his core responded to him.

In this moment, he understood two things. One, a part of him that had always been vulnerable to Feathers and all he entailed bloomed back to full life. It had him scrambling to acquiesce and do everything in his power to make Cas happy. Two, Dean’s choice was made. Clear like cut glass. Stick a fork in him, cause he was done. Cas. Feathers. His.

A soft snarl escaping him. He eyed Cas, searching his face for any kind of sign that merited his concern. Only to find a tousled sex-haired Cas glaring up at him longingly, eyes darkening with every passing heartbeat. When he opened his mouth, he surged forward and claimed Cas’ lips, plunging his tongue in deep. His left hand patted around in the sheets until he found the condom, close to the bottle of lube he’d brought in from the bathroom.

Breaking their kiss, Cas whined at him, the sound veering dangerously close to that of an angry cat. He chuckled, licking the saliva off his lips.

“Jeez, you _are_ bossy.”

“I told you before, I’m impatient,” Cas huffed. “Or maybe, just maybe I’m very enthusiastic and I need you to claim me.” He shot Dean a glowering pout, but the effect was lost on him.

Because Cas’ words were like a lure. More specifically, the choice of words.

Not fuck him senseless.

Not make love to him. Though Dean had no qualms about that. He was too much of a sucker and romantic to call it anything but that. Neither here nor there, when it came to Cas’ words.

 _Claim_ him. That’s where Cas’ mind went. His chest expanded exponentially as he chased the idea down, all too willing to oblige.

He ripped the package open between his teeth. Thighs sprawled wide, Cas watched him, breathing fast at the sight. Dean rolled the condom over his cock. The bottle of lube was presented to him by Cas’ trembling hand. The urge to chuckle at it was gone, their need heavy on the air overwriting his senses completely. He squeezed a generous amount into his hand and coated his cock in it, giving himself a few languid strokes, putting on a show for Cas.

“Oh,” Cas sighed at the sight in seeming wonder. “Oh, you’re… Dean, you’re so...” 

He lost his train of thought as quickly as the words fell from his lips, frowning as he bit his lower lip around a moan. Anchoring a hand on Cas’ devastatingly beautiful hipbone, he lowered his lubed up hand between Cas’ legs.

Cas all but snarled at him. “I’m ready, Dean, fuck, I’m so ready. Do not make me beg.”

Dean held his gaze at those words. Oh, he wanted to hear Cas beg for his cock. So badly. But not now. Not the first time around. Honestly, he was too far gone himself to pretend otherwise. Dean dipped his voice to one of velvety honey, trickling it across Cas like syrup as he spoke, as he leaned over, the heat radiating off him.

“But there’s no need to worry,” Dean drawled at his ear. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

Cas keened, arching up under him, digging strong hands into his flanks. His legs came up, presenting himself to Dean. He sat back up on his knees, moving around until Cas’ thighs were bracketing him. Breathless, Dean slid his cock between his cheeks, relishing the friction. He heard Cas take a breath to spur him on or tell him off. Before he could, Dean lined himself up, pushing past the initial resistance. Watched Cas’ eyes flutter with heightened need, anticipation, surrender… and at long fucking last. And then he was sliding home into Cas as if they were designed for each other, and his brain blanked out. Carried on a melody of united deep, relieved moans, Cas clutched onto him in all his unique beauty.

He let himself fall forward, boxing Cas in on either side. Pulled out until his rim caught, he pushed back into Cas’ delicious warmth as slowly as he could, drinking in the journey Cas’ face went on as he did. Found blue eyes glued to his. Cas’ mouth went slack, his expression hooded in blissed out, wondrous surrender. Flitting from that to enraptured pleasure and a swirling of too many emotions to name that had Dean surging forward to kiss him, wanting more. Wanting all of him. He groaned through too much pleasure, as Cas clenched around him tightly, his muscles flexing under him. How Cas responded to him seemed an eerie, glorious mirror, it was quickly almost too much to take in.

Wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist and behind his neck, he turned them to their side. Cas followed with a whimper, drawing a groan out of Dean in the process, legs locked securely around him. He held Cas tightly by the hips, as he ground into him in slow, teasing moves. Cas gripped his shoulder with one hand, the other wrapped around his back. Fingers dug into the soft flesh between his shoulder blades. Panting, Cas worked to meet his thrusts as he filled out against Dean’s stomach.

It was all kinds of hot and messy, with no space between them. Never any more space between them, he mused, as he wrapped his arm around Cas’ sweaty form, surging forward to capture his lips. His eyes fell shut in blessed surrender, Dean felt the burn in his muscles much sooner than he would normally. Their kisses deteriorated to a hardly coordinated meeting of tongues and hot breathing of their names in almost desperate praise.

“Dean,” Cas said through high-pitched moans. “DeanDeanDean…”

He was barely coherent himself, sliding fingers into Cas’ glorious, sweaty hair. “I got you, Cas.”

Cas smiled, licking into his mouth, their breath mingling. “I’m counting on it. Harder, Dean.” He threw his head back, nudging into Dean’s hand. “God, Dean, please, just a touch… harder.”

He twisted his fingers into Cas’ hair and grabbed hold, baring his neck so he could latch on to the warm, rapidly beating pulse. The whimper that elicited spurred him on, so he clamped his other hand down on Cas’ trapezius for a better hold. Angled his hips differently and hit home harder. Cas’ nails raked over his back desperately. He shuddered and moaned in delight at the slight burn and looked up at Cas’ face, as he thrust deeper. Blue eyes shot wide when Dean nailed his prostate. He set his jaw in determination at the sight, sliding his hand back into his hair and twisting it.

Cas filled his vision, face shining with sweat, his eyes a storm of debauched adoration, soon giving way to the purest kind of surrender. His keening hitched higher with every thrust, until his voice went out. He clutched onto Dean, opening his eyes wide when Dean spoke, his own voice gravelly with the heady beauty of Cas. His Feathers.

“Come on my cock, Feathers, let me see you.”

Dean reached into the non-existent space between them, the gesture futile except perhaps in its suggestion, and crying out his name, Cas came again untouched, shooting warm semen between them. It was swept up in the slap of wet skin on skin, as Cas shuddered through the waves of his orgasm; squeezing down on Dean hard, their foreheads pressed together. The intensity of it pulled Dean over the edge with him into the maelstrom of seeing stars and inhaling their combined scent. Dean lapped up Cas’ sweat, sucked down on the bolt of his jaw, teeth grazing the scruff. He ground out Cas’ name between clenched teeth as his orgasm crested.

They held onto each other, wrapped in a trembling embrace.

His muscles were screaming at him, his body aglow. Cas’ breathing plunged almost immediately as he curled into Dean’s arms, a human-sized stove. Except for, as detailed beforehand, his feet. Dean cradled him close, as he waited for his own breathing to return to normal. He moved gingerly, his soft cock sliding out of Cas. A reluctant moment of allowing space between them, so Dean could remove the condom and tie it down.

He looked at Cas, an eyebrow arched, as he pointed at the thing. “Don’t judge me, but that condom is going on the floor, cause I ain’t leaving this bed.”

Cas crinkled a sated smile at him as he inched closer, making grabby hands at him. “I’d throttle you if you tried.”

One of Dean’s shirts was put to perfunctory use to clean the worst off of them. They scooted around to get under the sheets, much the same way they had at the hotel.

“This feels familiar,” he smiled.

“Does it? I feel it might take awhile before I get used to this. You.”

“Those are two very different things, Cas.”

With a pleased hum and the cutest yawn, Cas slotted to his side, their legs entwined, placing soft kisses to his jaw. Dean cupped his face, lapping up his flavour. They got lost in lazy aftercare kisses, until eventually they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally? I think. ^^ They did a thing! They found each other back.
> 
> By this time, their dynamic was very much theirs rather than mine. Still, it was fun playing around with it.
> 
> Reactions are quite welcome! :3 Either way, thank you for being here. Almost at the end for these boys.


	32. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I… I can’t have you vanish on me again, Cas. My flair for the dramatic wants to say I won’t survive it. Not again… and part of me believes I wouldn’t.” 
> 
> Cas clutched onto him, his deep knack for empathy rearranging his features into one of fear and worry. He tried to give him a soothing look, arms encircling Cas reassuringly. 

**London, 2014**

Dean tended to wake up because of hunger. Usually. When some semblance of consciousness returned to him, that’s what he expected to feel. Hunger. Growling stomach. 

Instead, he became dreamily aware of his morning erection, decidedly not straining against his stomach. Nope. It was somewhere warm and wet. A familiar voice was sending vibrating hums through it, which travelled up his spine and lit up the pleasure center in his brain. 

“Oh,” he groaned, muscle memory kicking in. “Fuck me sideways, Cas, this is how you’re waking me up?” 

A pleased, sassy hum emanated from beneath the sheets. His balls were being fondled, cradled in Cas’ hand. Everything felt very warm. Dean lifted the sheets, trying to get a view of what was going on beneath the equator. Cas was straddling one of his legs, rutting against him lazily, his focus clearly on Dean. His lips were wrapped perfectly around his cock. When the light breached the darkness below, Cas looked up, his expression toeing the line between horny and twinkly. 

Dean moaned at the sight, his hips stuttering along with his breath. “Holy shit, you’re a sight for sore eyes in the morning. What’s the plan here?” 

Cas opened his mouth, licking the flat of his tongue around his tip. His desire washed over him, relentless and urgent. Dean drew out a long ‘fuck’ as he rolled his head back for a brief moment. 

“How long have you been down there?” he panted. “I feel like I might explode…” 

“Long enough. You’re a deep sleeper.” 

That gravelly bedroom voice had Dean distracted and not as coherent as he ought to be. He frowned back down into the den of debauchery that lived underneath his sheets. 

“I am? I don’t sleep much.” 

“I seem to recall,” Cas smiled. “You were this morning, for sure. I was able to shower and clean you up without you so much as stirring.” 

Okay, so having Cas in his bed worked more than one wonder. There was a firm nudge at the inside of his knees. Dean obliged, letting his legs fall wide, embarrassment flushing his cheeks for a whole different reason. When Cas sat up, pulling the sheets wide, the chill of the morning air sent goosebumps across his skin. 

“Cas, what the hell?” 

Cas folded his hands around his knees, settling down between them. His eyebrows shot up innocently at his words, as he went back to fondling his balls. “No blowjob?” 

“Yes, blowjob,” Dean bit, squirming into the touch eagerly. “But cleaning me up… I’m too young to be washed by someone else.” 

“Sweetheart,” Cas drawled. 

Flustering at the loving tone in Cas’ voice, he puffed up his cheeks, as he rolled his eyes. “I know, I know, hygiene.” 

“Thank you. As soon as I woke up, all crusty, I regretted our lack of due diligence last night. And I imagined doing this one too many times not to...”

His mouth fell open, when Cas pushed him up by the hips, both hands just above his ass cheeks and swallowed him back into his mouth in one smooth, confident move. He laughed through a decidedly pleased moan, that reeked of surrender and contentment.

“You imagined going down on me while I was asleep often, Cas?”

Cas hummed a soft laugh that sounded like a confession in the back of his throat, that had him chasing the feeling, his hips bucking. There never came an answer. He found he didn’t mind one bit. 

*

He tried to scoot closer to Cas, which, to be fair, was becoming nigh impossible. He wondered if their tendency to leave as little space between them as possible was directly tied to the literal ocean that had kept them apart for so long.

Cas’ breath tickled the hair at his ear, when he spoke. “You know we’ll eventually have to get out of this bed, right? If only to feed ourselves.” 

“Yeah, so you can go home.” 

Cas looked surprised at the blunt words. He watched the emotions ripple across his features for a bit. When fear seeped into those eyes, he gently booped his nose to Cas’. “So you can load up those cats and move. Or something.” 

“You’re allergic!” 

He snorted a loud inelegant sound. “That’s what you’re running with? No ‘I have a job there’, ‘I have family there’, ‘I have a life there’?” 

“Well, yes? Allergies can be dangerous.” 

He stared at Cas in disbelief. That mind of his was the single-most - barring a few, never mind, a slew of others, shut up - intriguing feature Cas possessed. 

“Like that’s going to have any bearing on our situation. I’ll take a pill. Maybe I’m magically immune to these two, because they’re yours. I could be allergic to your bodily fluids at this point and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. I’ll face the hell that is Texas, no questions asked.” 

Cas pouted. Dean rolled his eyes, working his jaw so he could suck on Cas’ tongue to make his point. “We’ve established I’m not allergic to you, Cas.” 

“It’s not that. I’m confused by this conversation.” 

“That’s alright.” 

“No, it isn’t, cause I know I’m missing something. I saw it yesterday at the SCA too. And in here, before you showered.” 

He fell quiet at that. Apparently reading each other went both ways… 

“Squirrel.” 

“Hmm?” Dean hummed, feigning innocence. 

“Talk to me. Weren’t those your words yesterday?” 

“Alright, fine,” he grunted.

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he organised his thoughts. The less stammering, the better. He watched Cas chew his own lip, perhaps commiserating subconsciously with Dean, as he waited him out.

“I… I can’t have you vanish on me again, Cas. My flair for the dramatic wants to say I won’t survive it. Not again… and part of me believes I wouldn’t.” 

Cas clutched onto him, his deep knack for empathy rearranging his features into one of fear and worry. He tried to give him a soothing look, arms encircling Cas reassuringly. 

“Another part of me knows I will survive. I’ve done it before. So have you. But losing you a second time would break something. For good. And I’d really rather not lose you again.” 

Cas shook his head, mouth in a tight line, his bottom lip trembling. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to escape him. Instead he pressed a kiss to Dean’s lips. Something sweet and shaky that made silent promises of forever. 

“It’s alright, Cas. We’re okay. I’m okay, just hear me out. You said you saw something and you did. Not gonna lie to you. I can’t lose you again. The thought makes me scarily angry. But I’m half expecting you to say all those things… That you have a life there. That you have to go back and don’t know when or if you’ll return… that… I remember, you see, I remember that day. And I can’t…” 

Dean inhaled sharply, when his voice broke. Cursed silently at the surge of fear that gripped his heart and tried to squeeze the life out of him. He thought he’d shelved it. For another day, his brain unhelpfully provided, which today was. 

“Enough,” Cas whispered, eyes wide. His fingers fell to Dean’s lips. “I am sorry I didn’t fight harder when my father tore our computer apart. Tore us apart. You deserved so much better. You still do.” 

Mutinous, Dean let out an angry, muffled growl against the three digits on his lips. 

“My turn,” Cas smiled as he scooted closer, wrapping both arms around Dean’s neck, entangling their legs. “I remember that day too. Vividly. Days like those, the ones that rearrange your life in such a fundamental way, are hard to forget. It’s my cowardice that created the rift.” 

Dean pressed his lips together, glowering some more. He really needed to work on Cas’ tendency to blame himself. Or they. They needed to work on that. But he’d hear him. 

“Yes, I will need to go back,” Cas said. Dean’s heart hurt, fuelled by the twisting dread within. “But I don’t think that is home anymore." 

Dean felt his forehead relax at the words. Cas planted a sweet kiss to his cheekbone, exhaling softly against his skin. He thought his chest was going to collapse. How could someone make him feel all these kinds of ways in one moment? Loved. Painfully loved. Seen and heard. Safe yet vulnerable. Hopeful yet scared out of his skin. He thought he was going to break apart within Cas’ arms, his soul laid bare either way. 

“Can we do it again?” Cas asked. 

“Not the twist I was expecting, but yes, of course, any time, where do you want me and how?” Dean quipped. 

Cas chuckled against his temple. Dean nipped at his earlobe. “Not what I meant, Squirrel, but by all means…” 

Dean pretended to give it consideration until Cas flicked a playful finger to the shell of his ear. Chuckling, he slid his hands across his back soothingly, voice soft as he looked at Cas fondly. “What _did_ you mean then?” 

“The long distance. Can we do it again?” 

He scoffed, resisting the urge to let out a manic laugh, roll his eyes and flail at the heavens all at once. “Yes. Feathers, yes, for you, always, anything and yes.” 

Cas grit his teeth, a sound that was equal parts infuriation and adoration. “Self-preservation, Squirrel.” 

“You are my fucking self-preservation, Feathers.” 

He nodded impatiently at seeing Cas’ confused expression. 

“You are. We can’t say and do all we’ve done in the past week and then pretend we don't know what it entails. Cas, you asked me several times not to let go. I’m terrified I might lose you again. It’s friggin’ crystal-clear, innit? Yes, I’ll do the long distance. Yes, I’m all in, no holding back. Yes, we need to figure out where to take this next, but whatever it is, I’m yours. Yes, yes, _yes_ , a thousand times, yes! To you, Feathers.” 

His body was shaking with how worked up he’d gotten himself over the span of that speech. Cas readjusted himself, placing warm hands on either side of his face. He was a sucker for these chick-flick moments. Feathers knew about his Harlequin novels, though he was sure he didn’t realise he was pandering to that particular part of him right now. He could almost feel his pupils blowing wide at the precious gesture. He focused desperately on the bright blue of Cas’ eyes, steeped in emotion. 

“I wish I’d soaked up more of your eloquence over the years. But let me show you after this, because I’m better at that than most. Let me paint you today. Take your pictures. Let’s have breakfast together. Explore your city. Your bed. Our memory vault. Maybe see if our brothers are still alive.” 

Dean laughed through stinging eyes and found himself wondering if he had paint and a canvas, and if so, where the fuck it was. If not, where the fuck to find it. “I demand a phone call first to avoid a repeat of yesterday.” 

Cas hummed in agreement. 

“I promise I will not disappear on you again. I’m yours. My home is no longer in Texas. Perhaps it never really was. My north may have shifted, pointing towards you the second I met you. Except I didn’t realise it the way I do now. Squirrel, you are my best friend, my first crush, my guiding light, my brazen brat… you are my _everything_. I have lived without you, built a life without you. But my home is with you, wherever we are. Right here in your arms or an ocean apart, you’re my home.” 

Dean closed his eyes, allowing the words to sink in. This went beyond a promise. This was a love declaration, if he ever heard one. Which he hadn’t. He exhaled slowly, feeling the warmth of Cas pressed into him, and pressed a kiss to Cas' temple.

"You know your way around the words just fine, Feathers," he mumbled. "Look at me."

And how beautiful it was to be able to request that and find his vision filled with Cas' face. Those softly drooping eyes, tracking over his face, filled with trust and hope. The soft curves of his lips and sharp angles of his cheekbones and nose. That delightful dark scruff. Years of dreams and imagination, of reading between the lines of both pen and pencil, real and tangible at his fingertips. Years of being the best of friends any teenager could wish for, while being complete idiots - though granted, that bit was mostly on Dean's part. Even as memories went, those years were priceless. Bittersweet in the way only stories of old seemed to understand.

Before the con, Dean was about to let go of Feathers, because that's what people do, right? They grow up, stop dreaming and move on. It went against his grain to relent, even though he did it often enough when he was young. Dean jutted his chin out, the swirling under his sternum subsiding into something crisp and clear like a perfect winter's sky. To finally have Cas in his arms, against all expectations, there was only one road ahead.

"Regardless how long you're staying, I am booking a ticket today. First half term is in October. That's not even two months from now."

He wasn't sure what to expect. A protest that it'd be too long, because it felt that way. Too much, too long, too soon.

"I know that sounds like a long way off, but I don't care what it takes, Feathers. My job gives me a lot of time off, I can travel up and down and I will."

"Squirrel, I'm self employed. So can I."

"You do realize I know why you're here, right? Recharge, reboot.. I imagine you'll want to get back to work once you're home. I don't need you worrying your head about..."

"Just because you have spare time doesn't mean I can't."

"But I want to meet your cats."

"You're allergic. What is wrong with you?"

Dean made a face at him, but suddenly Cas was snickering.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Are we fussing about who gets to travel across the ocean?"

He snorted softly, carding his fingers through Cas' hair. "I think we are."

"Perfect," Cas muttered, nodding fervently. "We got this. Squirrel, we got this... Right?"

"We got this, Feathers. Always," he echoed sweetly.

Dean trailed his fingers to the side of his face, kissing him reassuringly, and found nothing but wordless promises returned in the way Feathers kissed him back. Cas' hands caressed the wings on his shoulders, fingertips on either side of his spine, slowly making their way up and down, loosening him up. It made him feel they were flying.


	33. Epilogue - 2014

**London, 2014**

His stomach was in a thousand knots and he worried he might upchuck last night’s food, even though it was surely digested by now. For Cas’ sake, he schooled his features into something he hoped conveyed that, yes, he was fine, no, he was not panicking about never seeing Feathers again, and, sure, he wasn’t above admitting that to himself.

He wasn’t showing it, because the look Cas kept shooting him from the line going through customs got worse by the second. True to form for a long distance relationship, they exchanged clothes, which basically came down to Cas raiding his closet. He was sure he’d find other items missing in the coming days, Cas’ clothes left behind in return.

Dean for his part stole Cas’ AC/DC t-shirt and the charcoal shirt he wore during the speeddate. Hell, he was even wearing Cas’ Hufflepuff pajama pants, though yellow wasn’t his color.

Dean had exactly one hoodie left from his military days. For some reason Cas took a shine to it, completely taken in by the insignias on the sleeve the first time he found it. The view sufficed for Dean to ignore the memories tied to it. Cas was wearing it and wearing it well, over Dean’s Eye Of The Tiger t-shirt. His favorite blue plaid shirt was tied around Cas’ waist. Dean’s heart hurt at the sight, because it was all kinds of right and painfully beautiful. And slightly too big on Cas, which didn’t help when he gave Dean the umpteenth puppy look across the distance. 

<< You were right, Feathers.

**> > About what?**

<< Those puppy eyes do work in real life.

**> > I am not sorry.**

<< You’re gonna make me do something stupid.

**> > Please do. Please do something stupid.**

<< Didn’t you say I needed self-preservation? I thought you were the smart one.

**> > Right now I’m pretty sure my brain is fried. People are glaring at me, because I keep turning around and bumping into them.**

<< They're jealous assbutts. You turn around as often as you want.

**> > I feel like I’m falling apart.**

<< I’ve got you, Feathers, now and when you’re back home.

**> > It isn’t home. I'm shaking so hard I might fall apart.  
**

His hand trembled while he stared at the text, then to Cas, who was slowly but surely disappearing from sight. 

“Oh, fuck it.”

He started walking, pushing past people as he went. An older man pushed back, when he tried to slip by.

“Young man! What do you think you’re doing? Stay in line!”

“I’m not in the fucking line,” he said. “I’m trying to say goodbye to my boyfriend.”

“Well, you should have done that soo…”

“Dude,” Dean snapped. “This is the first time ever I saw him. Long distance. And I don’t know when I’ll see him again.”

“How is that my problem?”

“Oh, hush, you old grumpy goat,” a woman about Dean’s age said. “Go on, handsome.”

“Oh, he’s handsome, so he gets a pass?”

Bouncing on his feet, Dean hurried past them with a wicked smirk, working his way up to Feathers. Cas kept looking back to find him, unaware he was closing in, until Dean was right behind him and kissed him in the back of his neck.

“Squirrel!” he exclaimed.

“Ooff,” Dean laughed, when Cas threw his arms around him.

They stood kissing for way too long, the line parting and closing around them. There were comments, of course there were, but they both tuned them out. He groped as much of Cas as he could, breathed him in like he needed his scent to survive and by now, perhaps he did. They were both shaking out of their skin.

"Can't let go." Cas squeezed down on him harder.

Dean hummed into his neck. "Crazy coincidence that you should show up this year of all years..."

"How so?"

"They legalized same-sex marriage in March, I think it was." Cas looked like he might faint and he's quick to talk, because that came out all wrong. "Not that I'm asking you like this. I'll... I'd... Fuck."

He smiled awkwardly, fingers moving in nervous patterns on Cas' lower back, below all the layers. "Are you saying you wanna marry me?"

"Hell, yes. That should be obvious, but I'll obviously also do better than this."

Cas' eyes shone, as if Dean didn't run his mouth in the worst possible way.

"You know I can do better."

"As if you did anything wrong," Cas mumbled. "But yes, what a crazy coincidence. Among many others."

He kissed Dean on the nose.

“I have to go.”

“I know,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to Cas’ temple. “So do I before security intervenes.”

“They wouldn’t,” Cas scowled.

“Not gonna test it. You know I'm gonna be here again soon."

“I do, I do. It's just..."

“I know, Feathers,” he muttered. “I know. Autumn half time, I’m flying over, as promised. Can't wait to die of heat in that hellhole you call home."

"My feet will keep you cool."

Dean snorted a sweet laugh and kissed him again. The security lady had her eyes on them, so eventually they disentangled, stealing many more butterfly kisses, before he slipped under the tape and headed back. He fidgeted with his phone until Cas was out of sight, then some more, just… standing there in the main hall, his heart trying to beat its way out of him.

He sniffed at the shirt, nuzzling into the scent. His hand trembled when the text came in.

**> > See you in a bit, Squirrel. **

<< See you in a bit, Feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve followed these boys to the end, thank you so, so much! Although a lot of this is based off of reality, they gave me a hard time with all their stupidity and shenanigans. The idea was easy, the process a lot less so. Thanks to my beta for putting in all the effort of riding this one out.
> 
> Also, if you’ve grown attached to these boys… the following exchange is for you. However, the timing on this is not set yet, as it's in development. Once I get in far enough, I'll start regular posting!
> 
> Cas: We made it…  
> Mal: Don’t sound so surprised.  
> Dean: You had him drive away from me! I was half-naked.  
> Mal: Only giving the people the pining they asked for.  
> Cas: But we made it.  
> Dean: *makes googlies at Cas* We did.  
> Mal: I’m not done with you two.  
> Cas: Excuse me? Why not?  
> Dean: Yeah, that ending’s perfect.  
> Mal: Well, for one, you’re still an ocean apart.  
> Dean: That is a problem. But promises made on both sides.  
> Cas: Exactly, so the reader knows that’ll eventually sort itself.  
> Mal: For two, there’s a lot you don’t know about each other.  
> Dean: Well duh…  
> Cas: Such as?  
> Mal: *points at Dean* Three, his anger issues. And maybe drinking.  
> Dean: Psht. I’m sure no one noticed.  
> *Cas squints at him*  
> Mal: *points to Cas* Four, your anxiety is going through the roof once you leave that cocoon of fluff.  
> Cas: *huffs* I got this.  
> *Dean side-eyes him*  
> Mal: I’m sure you do, but won’t it be fun to explore?  
> Dean: The logistics of moving across an ocean? Anger issues and anxiety? Yeah, sounds like an absolute friggin’ blast.  
> Mal: But come on… I promise lots of domestics.  
> Cas: Ooh *hums happily* I like the sound of that.  
> Dean: *gets a distracted dreamy look in his eyes*  
> Mal: Smut too, if that helps. I mean...  
> Cas: *twinkling eyes* It does actually.  
> Dean: *grins* Hard to argue with that.  
> Mal: See… All good reasons to go ‘splorin together.  
> Cas: *makes soft eyes at Dean* But true love conquers all, right?  
> Dean: *flusters slightly* Hell yes. After all that, it better.  
> Mal: We will see.  
> Dean: *glares at Mal* I’m not sure I like you very much right now.  
> Cas: Dean!  
> Dean: What? Just sayin’…  
> Cas: Just sayin’ she’s the one who determines how well the sequel goes.  
> Dean: Like hell she does! We determine our own fate.  
> Mal: You know, you might have a point there. You two always seem to run away with me. In the best ways.  
> Cas: Best we all keep pace with each other then?  
> Dean: Sounds like a plan.
> 
> Which is basically my excuse to write massive chaotic domestic fluff and angst and smut, with, I promise, a happy ending.
> 
> Kudos and comments get my engine running, and theirs!
> 
> Love from my continent to yours,  
> Mal


End file.
